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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485120">Goodnight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/songbirdly/pseuds/songbirdly'>songbirdly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1920s, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Blood and Injury, Chaotic Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Human Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Hurt/Comfort, Husk is Bad At Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Husk is So Done (Hazbin Hotel), Literal Sleeping Together, Murder, Period-Typical Racism, Pre-Canon, Protective Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Racism, Revenge, Soft Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Swing Dancing, They’re both bad at feelings, Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Starved Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), a little bit of romance, there may be fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:54:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/songbirdly/pseuds/songbirdly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The booze was the only thing getting John through his tumultuous companionship with Alastor Landry, up-and-coming radio bastard and the bane of a peaceful, quiet night.</p>
<p>That night was an exception, however. And by golly, it wasn’t Alastor’s fault. It seemed that both men had quite a situation on their hands, and perhaps.... revenge is contemplated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alastor &amp; Husk (Hazbin Hotel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Notice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hello!!<br/><br/></p><p>I would like to say a couple of things before I post the actual fic. Please please pretty please read at least the next paragraph before going on to the first actual chapter.</p><p> </p><p>The story revolves around Alastor and Husk when they were alive during the 1920s. As you may know, Alastor is canonically mixed-race. Going into the entertainment business in the ‘20s as a person of colour would’ve brought about a lot of discrimination, and I wanted to write about that theme because I think that it is an interesting part of Alastor’s life that he would have to adapt to. So, there is a heavy theme of racism in parts of this story, particularly chapters 4 and 5 (where Alastor is lynched; it is quite violent). As the story progresses Alastor will have to deal with the aftermath of being attacked. I am trying to avoid using certain language and descriptions that could be hurtful towards people of colour when I write, say, dialogue of the racists, but if you think that I have stepped out of line then please comment (or message me.... hh I don’t know how this works yet) and I will gladly try to work it out. I have put warnings in the tags (and I may add more as the story progresses), but I just want to make absolutely sure that people know what they’re getting into when they read this. It’s not pretty.</p><p> </p><p>Now! As for some less important info that you might wanna know if you’re still reading:</p><p> </p><p>- Husk’s name when he was alive (in this story, prolly not canon) is John :) and Alastor calls him Johnny. He is referred to as John/Johnny for the entire story (as far as I’ve written, at least) so if that throws you off then uhhh sorry I guess</p><p>- Alastor is around twenty years old and is just starting out his radio career in New York. He isn’t as maniacal as he is in the show because 1) he doesn’t yet have crazy powers, and 2) he’s young and somewhat more innocent. Will he kill anybody during the course of the story? Who knows :)</p><p>- Husk/John is around twenty as well, maybe a little older. He isn’t a full-blown alcoholic yet <strike>but he’s definitely getting there</strike>. He finds Alastor annoying as hell but like,,,, he cares,,,,,,,,</p><p>- There’s no explicit shipping but the radiohusk friendship coooould be interpreted as romance-y. If you squint.</p><p>- This story is sad and messy and is 80% the boys arguing.</p><p>- I will put definitions for the 1920s slang in the notes :)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Speakeasy Woes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Slamming his tumbler down on the countertop, John could feel his last bit of patience fizzle out as the booze seeped into him. He wouldn’t say that he was an angry drunk, he actually had an impressive amount of control over himself when he was hammered, but he could only take so much. And considering that he had been dealing with what had to be the most talkative man in Brooklyn, he was reaching his snapping point.</p><p> </p><p>Alastor had been rambling on about god knows what for over an hour now, and despite his best efforts to tune it out John simply could not focus on anything else. With the way that his compatriot got up in his personal space and practically screeched in his ear with his awful, warbly radio voice, John couldn’t blame himself.</p><p> </p><p>He deepened his already-prominent scowl and glared at the bottom of his glass. He was strongly considering downing more of the stuff to deal with his situation, but he didn’t want to be kicked out of the gin mill completely zozzled and unable to find his way home. He sighed through gritted teeth and slid the tumbler over to the bartender, who raised an eyebrow at him. John shook his head, and the bartender whisked the glass away. There were few other patrons as it was a work night, and if the newsman speaking from the bar’s radio was correct, then it would soon be pouring with rain. John attempted to block out the newsman’s tinny voice. He didn’t need two annoying radio bastards trying for his attention.</p><p> </p><p>Speak of the devil, the radio bastard currently sitting beside him had knotted his fingers in John’s hair, and was leaning his full weight on him. Which wasn’t very much; the man was thin as a twig, but the action demanded all of John’s attention. He was rapidly approaching the point where he completely lost his composure.</p><p> </p><p>That point came when Alastor smacked John upside the head while giving a boisterous laugh, presumably a reaction to something he said that he thought was rather witty.</p><p> </p><p>“Johnny, are you listening to me? I said something absolutely hilarious and you don’t look amused in the slightest!”</p><p> </p><p>John roughly shoved the smaller man off of him, glaring daggers. He hadn’t meant to do much, just get the asshole off, but in his drunken state he misjudged the force required and Alastor went tumbling off of his seat with a small squeak of surprise. John’s eyes widened and his brain fumbled for an apology, but seeing Al sitting shocked on the floor he reconsidered, because the smug bastard still had a grin stretched across his face. He always wore a fucking smile like it was a medal, an symbol to show others that he wasn’t intimidated by anything. For reasons that John couldn’t quite find, that damn everlasting smile tore his mind into a raging mess.</p><p> </p><p>John could no longer contain his thoughts. “You think this is fuckin’ funny!?”</p><p> </p><p>Blinking in confusion, Alastor’s smile shrunk just the tiniest bit. “No—“</p><p> </p><p>“Then shut the hell up! I just wanted to relax tonight, and when you showed up I thought I’d give you the benefit of a doubt, but you can’t seem to can it for one fuckin’ night!”</p><p> </p><p>John was furious now. If this had been one of those rare occasions where he was with the man and somehow managed to stay sober, then perhaps he would have realized that he was being a tad harsh. But alas, he was far too riled up now to think twice on the matter.</p><p> </p><p>There was a moment of complete silence as those in the joint watched the scene intently. Alastor stared at John’s fuming form, his mouth moving wordlessly before settling. His quivering smile looked extremely forced.</p><p> </p><p>The bartender cleared his throat. “Listen, if you boys have some beef then scram, the whisper sister don’t want no trouble in her spot.”</p><p> </p><p>Trying to loosen his clenched fists, John turned stiffly towards the bartender. He tried for a pleasant expression. “‘M’sorry sir, had a bit much to drink.” He didn’t want the proprietor to get wind of this and withhold the good hooch.</p><p> </p><p>The booze was the only thing getting John through his tumultuous companionship with Alastor Landry, up-and-coming radio bastard and the bane of a peaceful, quiet night.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading!! There’s not enough content about these two fools.</p><p>Now.... stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Booze: liquor<br/>Hammered: drunk<br/>Gin Mill: speakeasy<br/>Zozzled: drunk<br/>Can It: shut up<br/>Beef: problem/argument<br/>Scram: leave<br/>Whisper Sister: female proprietor of a speakeasy<br/>Hooch: liquor</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fluky Happenings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John gave Alastor a pointed look and then jerked his head towards the door. Without bothering to check if the man was following him, John took his leave. Or he tried to, but the booze in his system was really doing a number on him now and before he knew it he had stumbled into a table. A sharp kick in the shin from a dame’s shoe brought him back to his senses. He muttered an apology and shuffled away, but he hardly made it two steps before his head was swimming and he may have been falling but.... he was vaguely aware of a bony arm digging into his back, pushing him towards what was hopefully the exit.</p><p> </p><p>The next thing he knew he was outside, the night air biting at his face and trying to poke through his evening garb. As he blinked the spots out of his eyes he realized that he was leaning heavily against Alastor’s scrawny form.</p><p> </p><p>John tried to say something, but he wasn’t quite sure yet what he wanted to say, so what fell out of his mouth was slurred nonsense. Alastor chuckled softly.</p><p> </p><p>“You truly have a way with words, dear Johnny.”</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck.... ?” John managed. “Wh—“</p><p> </p><p>“It appears that your peaceful night has been ruined!” Alastor didn’t seem the least bit bothered with hauling his drunken companion down the street. “You ought to head home before it’s raining cats and dogs!”</p><p> </p><p>Having finally gotten ahold of his bearings, John shoved himself off of the cheery bastard. He grabbed his jacket from the man, grumbled more incoherent nonsense, and began to trudge off.</p><p> </p><p>“Have a swell night, my friend!”</p><p> </p><p>Alastor’s voice rang clear through the chilly air, but his friend didn’t acknowledge his goodbye. Figuring that he should take his leave, Alastor swivelled on the balls of his feet and started a brisk walk towards his home. Without his drunken Johnny occupying his thoughts, he had better take account of his current appearance. Not that anyone would be out to see him at this time, but Alastor always prided himself on looking his best.</p><p> </p><p>He noticed that his shirt had become untucked and his spectacles were askew, likely from the less-than-proper way they had left the speakeasy. He adjusted these minor issues with ease, and then reached up to pat his hair. It was oiled back, but a few unruly curls had bounced out of place. Giving a slight grimace, Alastor attempted to fix it. He would pray for the day that his hair would finally agree with him, it was downright embarrassing when the higher-ups at the radio station would take a glance at the unkempt mess and mutter something about his being “unprofessional”.</p><p> </p><p>He had many of his father’s looks, but some of his mother’s curls seemed to have snuck their way in. His mother adored him the way he was, but it seemed that no one else was particularly thrilled that he was working his ass off for a chance in New York’s booming entertainment business. And he was succeeding, he thought with his grin pulling at his cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>This aspect of his life had been at the forefront of his mind after the bartender several minutes ago had told him he should be grateful that they even let him in. Alastor had been quite preoccupied trying to drag Johnny out of the joint, but the subtle quip at his background was not ignored. He had beamed at the man, who looked unsettled and turned away.</p><p> </p><p>Ah well, what to do. He was an intelligent man who wouldn’t take any wooden nickels in exchange for his carefully crafted reputation. It was best to just focus on his work, and let the public be inevitably swayed by his charms and wit. And he could use dear Johnny to let off steam! The man would tolerate him, and Alastor quite enjoyed their late night talks.</p><p> </p><p>Lost in his thoughts, he had reached a quiet alleyway, flanked by the backs of closed stores. He had found this shortcut several months before, and as he was rather eager to get out of the biting cold he took it now. Perhaps not the best idea this late at night. Alastor had had a few drinks, however; he wasn’t nearly as affected as Johnny, but his mind was not at its sharpest.</p><p> </p><p>With the dark and cold and alcohol and the tiredness seeping into his bones, one couldn’t blame him for not noticing the little details that whispered with unease. He didn’t notice the shuffling coming from a break between two buildings, muffled shushing sounding as he moved closer. And he certainly did not notice that his Johnny had been following him, and was currently standing at the end of the alleyway, watching Alastor through eyes half-closed due to his drunken state.</p><p> </p><p>When an arm reached out from the shadows, one couldn’t blame Alastor for being a tad slow.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello again dear readers!</p><p>Husk/John is Tired, but it seems that he was following Alastor, now why could that be?</p><p>And Alastor.... he does some self-reflecting about his goals in radio, but alas, the night has plans.</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Fluky: uncertain, odd<br/>Booze: liquor<br/>Dame: lady<br/>Raining Cats and Dogs: raining heavily<br/>Swell: good<br/>To Take Wooden Nickels: to be unassertive and take nonsense</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Blood and Pride</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alastor was yanked off balance, and a moment passed where complete silence surrounded him. Then he caught on that perhaps he was in a spiff of trouble.</p><p> </p><p>He gave an indignant shriek, and a hand was promptly clamped over his mouth. His whole body locked up at the unwanted touch.</p><p> </p><p>“Get him over here.”</p><p> </p><p>A man’s voice, gruff and dead serious. For a fleeting moment Alastor thought of Johnny, but that thought was crushed when he was roughly shoved forwards and he could feel hands on him and something grazed his arms and then tightened, drawing his wrists together behind his back, and Alastor couldn’t see well in the dark but he could make out many shapes all moving towards him. He felt panic rise in his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Alastor prided himself on being in control at all times. Even in a situation where he had no physical control he could still tame his emotions. He did not panic. He had never lost his grip on his mind before, and he didn’t intend to now. He shoved any and all feelings down into the depths of his psyche and willed a logical thought to the surface. He was clearly being attacked, that was obvious enough. The hand over his mouth had been removed, but it had been replaced by a rough cloth shoved uncomfortably down, seemingly into his throat, preventing any noise from escaping. He was outnumbered. His arms were of no use, having been secured behind his back. He tugged at the bonds. They didn’t give, but.... he still had his legs available.</p><p> </p><p>Another shove and Alastor lurched forwards, eyes falling on a pair of shoes hardly three feet in front of him. Hands were still gripping his arms. Excellent. He leaned all of his weight on the person at his back, and with a defiant growl and a silent prayer he kicked his legs up, aiming for what he hoped was the man’s groin. His right foot made contact, and a sharp cry of pain fell on delighted ears. He felt adrenaline kicking in as confidence and desperation slammed inside of him like billiard balls. Alastor kicked his legs wildly, knocking his head back against his captor’s and twisting, writhing, ignoring the pain from the bonds straining at his wrists and the hands, the hands that seemed to be everywhere at once, latching onto him, subduing him. A horrible sensation streaked across his nerves, as if someone had set them ablaze. He hated being touched by these strangers. He hated how he was forced to the ground by so many hands and elbows and shoes and knees, all digging into his skin and locking him down. Most of all, he hated that he was restrained from speaking several choice words to the assholes surrounding him.</p><p> </p><p>Alastor had been completely pinned down, lying on his stomach as quiet curses sounded off around him. Before he could even attempt to move, he felt the rough pattern of a boot sole collide with his head, mashing his face into the pavement. His spectacles skittered away.</p><p> </p><p>“You nitwits, get ‘im up.”</p><p> </p><p>A different man had spoken this time. He sounded farther than the others, perhaps fifteen feet away. Hands were grabbing at him again, hauling him up. Alastor had recovered from the shock of being smashed into the pavement, although his left cheek felt raw from where it had collided with the ground. He briefly considered the fact that he would be quite a sight for sore eyes after this whole ordeal was over, but he didn’t dwell on it for long.</p><p> </p><p>He was moving, violently trying to shake off his attackers. He kicked his left leg up, but something hard jabbed into his shin and he missed his mark, stumbling as hands dragged him forward. He tried with growing desperation to free his hands but the bonds held fast, shredding his wrists. A blow to his chest sent him reeling. All of the air was knocked out of his lungs, and he tried to suck in a breath but the gag in his mouth was making breathing progressively more difficult as his frenzied state required more oxygen, and the pain was overwhelming as another blow sent waves of agony across his chest. He was dimly aware that his back was now against a wall, and fists and boots were pummelling him into submission. Black spots danced in Alastor’s vision as he sucked in a harsh breath, his chest prickling with the effort. In his disoriented state, he almost didn’t see the figure who had skidded to a stop in the alleyway. Alastor chalked the silhouetted blob up to another attacker, but that was far from the truth.</p><p> </p><p>John was watching the fight in the dark space with a rapidly growing sense of horror. Then he turned, and ran. He hightailed it out of the alley as if he were the pinnacle of health and not some washed-up budding alcoholic. Alastor had been surrounded by men, John wasn’t sure how many but it had to be at least ten, and they had shoved him into a wall and were <em>beating</em> him like nothing else mattered. John had hardly been able to make out Alastor’s form amidst the flurry of bodies, but from what he saw the poor man looked like a mistreated rag doll on the verge of passing out.</p><p> </p><p>A plan had been piecing itself together in John’s mind as he ran, the booze-induced numbness in his brain forgotten for the moment. He knew right away that he wouldn’t be able to take that many guys out on his own, but he had a sinking suspicion of where the beating was going and he had to do <em>something</em>. So John ran like hell.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alastor is.... not having a good time. Not at all.</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Spiff: a little bit<br/>Nitwits: idiots<br/>Booze: liquor</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now, what’s a Brooksy like you doing way out here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor startled at the voice that sounded far to close for his comfort, breaths drifting right in his face. His eyes flitted up from the ground, landing on a man’s shadowed mug. His feet had been tied together now as well, preventing him from kicking the man to shut up all the bullshit he was now hearing.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You come to this town looking for sympathy? Thinking maybe those nice folks at the station would take pity on ya, hm?” The man’s voice dripped with a false sweetness that made Alastor want to vomit. “Well, they say you got a voice full o’charm, a real </span> <em><span class="s2">character</span></em><span class="s1">.”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another voice piped up from the back. “You took my damn job, you son of a—“ A chorus of hushing drowned him out.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Alastor could practically feel the man in front of him bristle with annoyance. “As I was saying before I was so </span> <em><span class="s2">rudely</span></em> <span class="s1"> interrupted,” a snicker sounded from somewhere to the right, “a voice that could win the big shots over would surely be impressive, yes? Care to let us hear it?”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man reached up and roughly pulled the gag out of Alastor’s mouth. He relished a deep breath of air before he locked eyes with the man taunting him. Without his cheaters Alastor couldn’t see much of his face, but he kept his steely eyes forward in a show of defiance.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have nothing to say to you.” Alastor’s voice was thankfully strong, unwavering as he stared down his adversary.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man’s features seemed to twist, contorting into something much more sinister. The shadows deepened in the creases of his skin. With a pang of triumph, Alastor gave him his best smile. The man moved suddenly, a blur and a hand and then a sharp pain across Alastor’s cheek as his head jerked to the left. Now both sides of his face stung, one side from previously colliding with pavement and the other.... it took an embarrassingly long time for Alastor to realize that he had been slapped.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man’s patience had fizzled out as soon as Alastor had smiled at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go to hell.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite his dire circumstances, Alastor gave a hearty laugh. Pain flared in his chest at the effort, and he forcefully suppressed any outward display of it.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Gladly! I </span> <span class="s2"> <em>do</em> </span> <span class="s1"> hope I’ll see you there.”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A punch to the chin and Alastor was staggering backwards, falling into someone’s waiting arms. Metallic tasting blood pooled in his mouth and dribbled down his chin, and all he could think about was how it would drip down and stain his shirt.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something heavy and scratchy now encircled his neck. It was pulled tight, and he could feel a heavy knot at the back weighing the— the rope down, and the rough material at the front pushed against his throat and he gagged. His gaze had wandered aimlessly to the men’s shoes, but his attention was snapped back to the man in front of him as the gravity of his plight began to set in.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had heard stories. The boys in the bayou had told one to Alastor when he had begged them to disclose why they were so riled up over a newspaper delivered that morning. His mother.... she had taken him aside and explained why they wouldn’t be seeing that kind old bo who would always bring biscuits for the children at church anymore. Alastor had always scoffed at the idea, burying any unease. He wasn’t one to be a victim.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He reminded himself that he wasn’t one to panic either.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He didn’t panic when he was hoisted up onto a ledge of some sort. He didn’t panic when the men jeered and </span> <span class="s2"> <em>spat</em> </span> <span class="s1"> and surrounded him like a flock of hungry crows. And he most certainly did </span> <em> <span class="s2">not</span> </em> <span class="s1"> panic when he was pushed from behind and his feet dangled above ground and his neck was being </span> <em> <span class="s2">sliced into</span> </em> <span class="s1"> and he never fell because he was hanging from a rope in midair.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t </span> <em> <span class="s2">breathe</span> </em> <span class="s1"> and blood roared in his ears as his body convulsed. His head felt like it was floating away from the rest of him.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was going to die.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t see and he couldn’t register anything except a rapidly numbing pain around his neck. He was loosing consciousness. In a frantic, desperate attempt at freedom he strained at his bonds, wrenching a wrist free. He didn’t feel the agonizing consequences as the bonds gouged deep lacerations into his arms. He clawed at the rope around his neck, trying to digs his fingers in and make space to breathe but it was too tight and he was weakening by the second. He was too weak to do anything but stare listlessly at nothing as his senses faded and his arm fell heavily to his side. A comforting nothingness overtook him. Alastor hung disturbingly still, lifeless even, as the men around him celebrated.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Brooksy: well-dressed man<br/>Mug: face<br/>Big Shots: people in positions of power<br/>Cheaters: eye-glasses<br/>Bo: good-hearted man</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Hollow and Daring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One had to give John credit where it was due. Despite being drunk and tired and somewhat of a potbellied man he could run quite fast when fuelled by fear and determination. And rage. John was rather livid.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He made it back to the alleyway in impressive time, gasping for air. He was still standing through sheer willpower.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He prayed to any and every god out there that his horseshit plan pulled through.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He veered head-on into the little break between stores where Alastor had been attacked. A red flag shot up in John’s mind when the first thing he noticed was that it was silent, save for some muffled whispers and shuffling. No sounds of a fight, or of Al’s stupid annoying </span> <span class="s2"> <em>familiar</em> </span> <span class="s1"> voice, and he wasn’t dead already, was he—</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Don’t focus on the worst case scenario and act </span> <span class="s2"> <em>now.</em> </span> <span class="s1"> “Police!”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The hoard of men snapped their collective attention towards the newcomer. “Who the—“</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The police!” It took a monumental amount of effort for John to keep his anger suppressed. “They found out, the bears are comin’, someone tipped ‘em off and we gotta scram.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The fuck are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The coppers know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I ain’t goin’ back to the big house. Not ‘cause we blipped off some—“</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">John’s gaze fell on a figure behind all the men, shadowed and perfectly still. The head lolled down and John couldn’t see a face but he fucking </span> <span class="s2"> <em>knew.</em></span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Alastor.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">John clenched his fists until blood ran down. His vision tunnelled and all he could process was that he friend wasn’t moving. And then he felt rage, searing through him like a wave of hornets. Every inch of him was screaming to </span> <span class="s2"> <em>kill these men,</em> </span> <span class="s1"> kill them without mercy and those thoughts unnerved him but they </span> <span class="s2"> <em>deserved</em> </span> <span class="s1"> it, they did. He exerted his last thread of control to avoid charging the slimy bastards.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A shout sounded in the distance. The men immediately fell silent and John felt a sliver of hope. Another shout, closer. A car horn blared. The men began shuffling restlessly. John forced his focus onto the biggest one, staring him down.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You hear? They’re comin’ and I’m warnin’ you all that if you don’t get the hell outa here you’re gonna be in real big trouble.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silence. Then the big man hunched up and turned to the others. “Let’s blow this, take the fucker.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A shrill voice rang through the air, sounding very close this time. “Police! Stop right there!”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The car horn blared again. John could hear it sputtering nearer, in the alleyway now.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I’ll take—“ </span> <span class="s2"> <em>my friend</em> </span> <span class="s1"> “—the body.” John dropped his voice to a commanding whisper. “Just get! Go!”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You wanna get caught by coppers hauling this guy away, well, fine by me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John felt relief blossoming in he chest but not yet, not yet because Alastor still wasn’t moving and John could see now that he was fucking hanging from a rope and his rage was about to burst out of his chest in a horrible display of violence....</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The other men murmured in agreement. They shoved each other back and hustled, clambering over a fence and running away into the night.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">John stood stock-still, waiting for the last man to scramble off before he made a move. When he was sure that they had all gone, he rushed forward. He practically flew towards Alastor’s limp form, reaching up and pulling at the noose with all of his might but nothing. He tried in a futile effort to untie it but he had never been good with knots, and </span> <span class="s2"> <em>Alastor still wasn’t fucking moving.</em> </span> <span class="s1"> A wretched sound tore through John’s throat, something between a growl and a sob. Out of options, he climbed a poorly-constructed lattice and reached wildly for where the rope must be tied because it had to be hanging down from somewhere. His fingers grazed something wooden and with despair seeping into his being he pulled at it and it came falling away with a spray of wood splinters. Alastor crumpled to the ground.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By that time John wasn’t thinking. He was only moving. He jumped down and tried to loosen the noose but it didn’t give, so he cursed and threw Al over his shoulder and ran out of the alleyway as if devils were on his tail. He didn’t even register the sleazy young people standing in anticipation around a car. The people that John had approached, hanging lazily around the nearest smoke shop corner minutes before, and he had paid them all the money he had to make a show of being policemen with no questions asked. One of them shouted something at him but John was already gone, rounding the corner and running, looking for a secluded place to stop and help Alastor.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had considered that the men might have been suspicious of his ruse, but there hadn’t been much to do about that other than to be the most convincing asshole possible. One of the men had backtracked and warily peeked out of the hiding spot, only to see some kids and then a man skidding out of the alleyway with what looked to be a very bony sack over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An indignant “HEY!” was heard by John, and he somehow ran faster. He needed to help Al as soon as possible but he also needed to get as far away from those men as possible and the conflicting necessities clashed in his head as he ran.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At least he had remembered to snatch Alastor’s broken spectacles off of the ground before leaving. When he woke up Al would be rather miffed if he lost them.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he woke up.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Husk/John for this entire chapter, internally: shit fuck fuck shit fuck SHIT fuck sh</p><p>Thank you so much for reading!! I promise that it gets happier from here on out, and Alastor will have his well-deserved revenge ohohoho</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Bears: police<br/>Scram: to leave<br/>Coppers: police<br/>Big House: prison<br/>Blipped Off: killed<br/>Blow This: get out of here</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Solace in Solemnity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John rounded another corner and found himself at the side of a long building. It wasn’t secluded, but the streets were empty. No one was out this late and luckily none of the men had followed them that far. Carefully but quickly John slid Alastor down to lay him on the ground. He fumbled with the rope, huffing and cursing with more worry threatening to spill out. Then the knot loosened and John kept at it until he had loosened the noose enough to pull it off of Alastor’s head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the seconds that followed many thoughts crashed through John’s mind, from relief to worry again and then an uncertainty that twisted his insides up because he hadn’t thought far enough ahead. Alastor was lying still. Should he shake him? Yell? Fucking.... CPR?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unfortunately for the duo and their already harrowing situation, some of the men had, in fact, followed them. John was ripped out of his thoughts by footsteps and angry voices not too far away. He was up and running again in an instant, hauling himself and Al to somewhere else. He didn’t know how to wake his friend up but he was certain that time was running out for Alastor.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A clearing came into view, a garden in the middle of a sleepy neighbourhood. There were.... large bushes, John realized, they would be somewhat covered there. He jumped the curb and threw his weight into leaves and sticks and then he was sitting in a small patch of grass between bushes, setting Alastor down again and.... and what then?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The voices were long behind them now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alastor?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Fucking </span> <span class="s2"> <em>no response.</em> </span> <span class="s1"> John gripped Al’s shoulders and his friend felt so cold through his sweat-soaked shirt.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al, wake the fuck up....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alastor! <em>Hey!</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Nothing fucking </span> <span class="s2"> <em>nothing.</em> </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tears brimmed at the corners of John’s eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“AL!”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Without thinking he slapped him hard across the face. For a single moment the sound fell on silent surroundings. Then Alastor was moving. He gasped for breath and a hoarse wail ripped out of his throat as his chest heaved, eyes darting wildly around.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All of the worry that had been flooding John suddenly dissipated, replaced with a detached relief and the single thought that he had to keep Alastor alive.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just keep Alastor alive and everything would be fine and dandy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al, hey, you’re okay.” John held shaky hands over the man’s shuddering form. “Just breathe.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor’s gaze finally fell on John’s face and John tried for a reassuring smile, but it probably looked more like a freaked-out grimace. Tentatively, he placed a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. Thankfully Al didn’t flinch. He continued staring at John while a horrible wheezing noise emitted with every breath he took.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John was taken aback as he gazed at the man who currently looked so very, very small. Alastor’s mouth was open in a silent scream, his eyes looked wild, he shook violently, and every line in his face was stretched out as his expression contorted into pure fear. John had never seen anyone look so scared.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alastor.” John tried to steady his own shaky breathing. “It’s just me, Johnny, you—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was interrupted by a painful-sounding rasp as Alastor tried to speak. John couldn’t make any words out and he quickly shushed him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t try to talk, Al.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patting his shoulder in a hopefully comforting manner, John sat with the shuddering man until his agonized wheezing began to subside. John busied himself with undoing the belt around Alastor’s ankles, and he noticed that there had been one around his wrists that had presumably been torn off during the fight, leaving his wrists bloodied. John grimaced; that had to hurt.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His attention was snapped back when Alastor began taking short breaths in rapid succession as panic set in. Ignoring John’s advice, he tried again to speak.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“C-can’t.... breathe....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John was dimly aware of tears tracing down his cheeks as he tried to steady his friend. “Yeah you can. Your throat’s probably swelling but it won’t last. Just.... focus on me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor reached a trembling hand up, and John caught a glimpse of dark blood staining his skin and sleeve. Al gripped onto John’s shirt like it was his lifeline. He tried to set his other arm underneath him to push himself up but he was far too weak, so John gently helped him sit up. He shrugged off his jacket and settled it onto Alastor, his wheezing filling the otherwise silent night around them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... Johnny?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor’s voice was impossibly meek as John held him steady. Gone was the flair and the charisma and that stupid radio accent. Sweaty hair stuck to his face, and John reached a hand out to brush it away.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor flinched. John returned his hand to the man’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah Al, it’s just me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Neither of them noticed that it had started to drizzle lightly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Johnny I— I’m—“ Alastor’s words devolved into unintelligible rasping, but he continued to choke out whatever he was trying to say as John repeatedly shushed him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“N-no.... no no no no—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just shut up, Al....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Johnny?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuckin’.... what?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Johnny....” Alastor said the name like it was foreign to him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John huffed with exasperation. He shot Al his best annoyed look that was so often directed towards him, and Alastor cracked a wobbly smile at the familiarity.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A smile, that was good.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Surprise surprise guess who ain’t dead.... :)</p><p>This chapter has some much-needed fluff, I hope you enjoyed!</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Uhh none here lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Hushaby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their brief moment of comforting familiarity ended when Alastor sniffled, his smile close to falling. John underwent a slight panic. He could keep Alastor alive and breathing but he had no goddamn idea how to comfort him if the man started crying. Alastor had never cried in front of John before.... hell, he hadn’t even frowned until that night. John stiffened and Alastor must have sensed his unease because his eyes were darting around again as shudders racked his frame.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Forcing himself to snap out of his little crisis, John resumed hushing Alastor until he calmed down enough to look at him with widened eyes.... brown eyes, alight with fear and a wild sort of energy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All of a sudden Alastor’s terror-induced frenzy left him. He sniffled and all but collapsed into John, his head landing on the surprised man’s shoulder with a soft thud. Alastor shuddered and wheezed and John couldn’t tell whether or not he was crying, and Al brought his other hand up and buried his fingers in John’s shirt.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Alastor. He leaned his head on the other’s and closed his eyes, sweat-soaked hair matting against his cheek. Alastor felt so, so cold and so frail, and John worried that if he hugged him too hard then he would simply shatter like glass.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stayed like that for a while. At some point John’s right hand wandered up to the back of Al’s head, and he ran fingers through his hair in a soothing motion as Alastor’s breathing slowly evened out. His face was practically submerged in the crook of John’s neck, and both men could feel the other’s breaths as they huddled together.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rain had slowly gotten heavier, and it was pouring down by the time John registered that it was even raining at all. He peeled an eye open and looked out over Alastor’s hair. The surrounding bushes wouldn’t do much to shield them from the downpour.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Alastor.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmm?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re gonna freeze out here.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“S’fine....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John felt guilty as he pried Alastor off of him. He looked thoroughly exhausted, leaning listlessly forward, and John figured that if he were to let go then he would fall right back against him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We should go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No response was given by Alastor, and John wondered if he had passed out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor raised his head slowly, a distant expression on his face that John couldn’t place. John again tried to brush wayward strands of hair off Al’s face, and this time Alastor made no move to stop him. He just continued staring at nothing with a small smile plastered on.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John sighed in resignation as he let Alastor fall against his chest. He scooped the man up in one swift motion, rising carefully to scan their surroundings. Nobody was there. He wasn’t strong by any standards, but Alastor was rather scrawny and John still had some excess adrenaline in him. For the time being it overpowered the booze, but he wasn’t sure how long that would last.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor laid a hand on the side of John’s neck. John could smell the blood on his wrist. He clenched his hands into Al’s borrowed oversized jacket and hoped that Alastor wasn’t aware of how concerned he was. He usually wouldn’t take kindly to being fussed over.... but tonight had been rather exceptional, and for the time being Alastor seemed to be relishing the close contact as he curled into John’s chest. John wasn’t sure if he was still smiling, and he didn’t mind enough to check.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">First things first. They needed to get out of the rain.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Helloooo!!</p><p>This is probably the fluffiest chapter this abomination of a story will have :)</p><p>Fret not, dear readers, the boys are back to arguing in like the very next chapter!</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Booze: liquor</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. All Berries, Really</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The camaraderie between the two men didn’t last the next five minutes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can’t just act like everything’s fuckin’ fine when it clearly ain’t so!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I.... acknowledge that the situation is.... not ideal, however I simply need a good- good night’s rest—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh don’t start that bullshit right now, you damn well know you need a doctor.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Absolutely </span> <span class="s2"> <em>not.</em> </span> <span class="s1">”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John was loosing his patience. He had carried Alastor to a storefront to wait out the rain under the awning. Alastor currently sat on the ground, huddled in John’s jacket looking rather miserable. Standing on his left was an increasingly irritated John, who couldn’t seem to get it through Al’s thick skull that the situation had to be taken seriously.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sputtered at Alastor’s nonchalant attitude. “Al! The hell is wrong with you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor sniffed, picking at the bloodied jacket sleeves. “Probably quite a.... few things. I appreciate your concern Johnny, but I—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His words were interrupted by a fit of coughing, and he threw his head down into his hands in defeat. With some effort John managed to let go of his anger for the moment. He slid down the wall to sit next to Alastor, staying silent until the other’s coughing had subsided.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You alright?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peachy keen.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor’s voice sounded awful, as if his throat had been twisted inside out and then shoved in a blender. He looked unnatural, and John supposed it was because he was trying desperately to stay calm and collected.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al, you don’t have to put on your stupid show.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor dragged his head around to look at John. “Whatever do you.... what.... you mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Explaining could take awhile, what with Alastor’s tendency to shoot down any criticism made of him. John stretched his legs, trying to settle comfortably on the cold hard pavement. Alastor was looking at him with genuine uncertainty.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your facade....” John wasn’t sure how to phrase his point. “You act like you’re always one step ahead of anything that could hurt you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor looked unimpressed. “Johnny dear, you’re drunk.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fair point, but several ideas had connected in John’s head with a questionable degree of semblance and he was going to speak.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You hate it when you ain’t in control, but....” John paused, trying to wrangle his racing thoughts into order. “It’s just me, y’know. You don’t have to beat y’reself up tryn’a keep that damn smile on your face.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had more to say, but he gave it up when Alastor turned his head away and rubbed at the wounds on his wrists. John hoped that he had articulated his thoughts half-decently. Maybe Alastor would listen for once, and put some trust in his friend.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t touch that, lemme see.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor froze. He refused to look at John or respond in any way when he prompted him again, and John’s rising annoyance was replaced with confusion when Alastor lay down on the ground in a heap of scrawny man and oversized jacket.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor must have been as tired as John. The night stretched out before them like an endless path to hell. John wanted to fucking pass out, and he would welcome hell if he could get some decent rest there.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Two dumbasses. Y’all get this chapter early :)</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Berries: good, great<br/>Peachy Keen: very good (used here sarcastically)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Drunken Ponderings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Alastor didn’t immediately reply John started silently counting, and when he got to twenty he wondered if Al had fallen asleep.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he did speak, he sounded thoroughly beat. “‘M tired.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John chuckled. “Don’t blame ya.” He taped the ground next to Alastor’s face, trying to get his proper attention. “Al, you need to see a doctor.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t even gather the energy to be angry any longer. “Why not?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After another bout of silence save for the rain, John tried his luck and poked Alastor’s back. “Alastor, why not?” His voice sounded too close to a whine for his liking. “.... Al?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Johnny, I would.... like to go home and sleep.” Alastor seemed to be struggling for air as he spoke. “If you.... insist, I’ll tell you come morning—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Save your damn breath, dumbass.” John tried to piece together a decision, but the booze was continuously reminding his muddled brain of its presence. “Fine. Stay at my place tonight, an’ y’better have a good fuckin’ reason for skipping on a doctor.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor snapped his hand in John’s direction, but there was no real malice in the gesture. On an impulse, John seized his hand and Alastor stiffened and pulled it away, but not before John got a close look at the damage.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, your wrists are shredded, Al....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m aware. If you would.... be so kind, I.... stay at my..... house.... tonight.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No the hell you ain’t, you even got a key?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course, I—“ Alastor fumbled at his pant pockets before sinking further into the jacket in what may have been shame. “Must have.... lost them.... in the fight.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All that John could see of the man was a tuft of disheveled hair falling over eyes that looked very lost.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John wasn’t one to feel much empathy for others, and if he did it was seldom expressed. Especially when dealing with someone like Alastor; John had never felt anything much for the man. Or so he thought, because he could hardly believe his own words when he had insisted on Alastor staying at his house. Since when had he given a damn? If Alastor wanted to waste away all alone then John should’ve let him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn’t that simple though. John didn’t understand much of anything at the moment, but seeing Alastor in the state he was in.... it forced something out of the dark recesses of his mind.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something painful and raw that reminded John of when he was eight years old, standing at attention in front of the burnt sock he had found at the side of the road. In front of his grandmother’s house. Or what was left of it.... the sock was what was left of it. John had cried for hours over that sock. The neighbours must’ve thought he’d lost his marbles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wasn’t sure why that memory would rear its ugly head years later as he sat on the ground with his friend. Perhaps because the same feeling he had endured that day was now bubbling up in his chest, threatening to boil over.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please Alastor. Y’can be a jackass if y’want but I’m scared as fuck right now.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor’s expression morphed into something that would have been hilarious if John hadn’t been on the verge of tears.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“....Alright. I’ll stay with you.... tonight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you, as always, for reading! This is the last chapter that is completely from Husk/John’s POV; the next chapter is a tad bit longer than usual and starts off with a flashback. Comments are appreciated!<br/>Mmmm so how about that new Helluva episode? I loved it!</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Booze: if you do not know what this means by now then look at the previous notes (it’s liquor)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Something to Remember</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as he sauntered into the yard he was ambushed by all four feet of Miss Madeleine-Amélie.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Where you <em>been? </em></span> <span class="s1"> Pa’s lookin’ like he went and gone crazy for you. Why, if you’s not been back by evenin’ you may well declare yourself a dead sonuvagun, I tell you dat—“</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Miss.” It took a lot of willpower for Alastor to refrain from pushing the clingy girl away from him. “Slow down.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bearcat stood on her tip-toes to grab Alastor’s shoulders. Digging her hands into his button-up, she shook him with much more aggression than necessary.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Damn you boy, I’mma say my piece! What you doin’, leaving Pa to wait for you when he’s so </span> <span class="s2"> <em>generously</em> </span> <span class="s1"> drivin’ you to d’station, you know he’s only doin’ dis because I begged an’ </span> <span class="s2"><em>begged</em>—</span> <span class="s1">“</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2"><em>Miss.</em></span><span class="s1">” Alastor put more force on the word as he tried to break in. “I’m quite grateful, rest assured! </span> <span class="s2">However</span> <span class="s1">....”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Madeleine-Amélie gave him a look that would make most men cower at her feet.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... I had somethin’ t’attend to first.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tapped her foot erratically on the mushy ground, and Alastor considered telling her that her shoes would get dirtied if she kept at it. He decided against it because of her ever-worsening impatience.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2">Well?</span><span class="s1">”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My mother....” Alastor’s voice trailed off.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl’s expression morphed into something sadder, her doll-like features drooping as if she were made of melting wax. Madeleine-Amélie released him, folding her hands primly together as she pondered.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She alright?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor didn’t want to tell her the truth. How his dear mother had pleaded with him to stay, her ever-unstable grasp on those she cared about loosening as Alastor had left the house. How as he got further away from the lonely little bundle of swamp he grew up in, he felt something crack. He was leaving his dear mother, and yet he hardly cared. His mind was full of anticipation and excitement for the big city, and not of his mother and the suffocating isolation that she would be subjected to. He had offered, of course, for her to accompany him, but it seemed that she could not handle the prospect of starting anew again. Alastor’s father had offered her the same thing years before, so he understood. Considering where his old man had ended up....</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, what to do. He would visit, he would, and of course she could tune in to his radio station. Would the broadcasts make it all the way to New Orleans? He thought giddily about how many people would be listening in on him. People would love him, people would hate him, and Alastor relished the idea of all the attention.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grinned happily at Madeleine-Amélie.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maman’s quite well, thank you! Now, I best be off, hm?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A small smile played across her lips. “Yes, ‘course. Please Allie, visit your mother sometime.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah Miss, what kind‘a son d’you take me for?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Silly me. Now be off wit you!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Miss—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t you go an’ forget about me!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Wouldn’t </span> <span class="s2"> <em>dream</em> </span> <span class="s1"> of it, cher.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last Alastor saw of her, a furious blush was plastered on her face. Then she turned heel and stormed off.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Some girl she was. Alastor’s mother worked for her family, and the two had been friends since childhood. Poor Madeleine-Amélie, getting married to some chump. She would be moving to New York as well with her husband, but her father had insisted that they be married in New Orleans. Alastor knew that they wouldn’t be allowed to see each other once she was married. Not that anything had ever, ah, </span> <em> <span class="s2">bloomed</span> </em> <span class="s1"> between them, but her husband wouldn’t have had it regardless.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They might as well still be living in different cities.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Alastor trudged along the rain-soaked streets with Johnny, he thought it funny how Madeleine-Amélie would push her way into his mind at such a time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Alastor was thirteen, she had shown up as his father’s house uninvited with the intent of finding out why his mother had been missing work. What she had found was the woman on her knees in the kitchen. She had been there for days. Alastor had been furiously attempting to clean the blood off of the floor and walls and out of his mother’s clothes, but his efforts were futile as Madeleine-Amélie spotted the stains immediately. Even if she hadn’t, the whole house smelled like blood. There had been a rather awkward moment with the two children staring at each other while the despondent woman on the floor gave no indication that she realized they’d been caught.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Madeleine-Amélie never told anyone. She got his mother new clothes and brought lavender to hide the smell while Alastor continued cleaning. She never asked where his father was, and when word got around that a gator had been seen with bloody clothing stuck in its teeth, she had covered for them with some story. Everyone believed her, of course, because how could the little doll ever lie?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had been quite the deceptive sweetheart.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor had never met her husband, but judging from the single letter he received from her he was not a good man.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Johnny?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Could I.... make a call?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure. Who?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was then that Alastor realized that he didn’t know where in the city Madeleine-Amélie was, or how to reach her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How embarrassing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, never mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Drat. So much for that idea. Although perhaps....</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny spoke up before Alastor could give any more thought to the matter. “I gotta piss.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh- in the streets?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, princess.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <span class="s2"> <em>Disgusting.</em> </span> <span class="s1">”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny gave a good-hearted laugh, which was definitely laced with alcohol but nonetheless.... a good laugh from the man was rare, and Alastor wanted to hear it again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">While he waited Alastor thought through his idea. For whatever god forsaken reason his mind was a tad too slow for his liking, and he didn’t want to think on why that could be. So he thought of Madeleine-Amélie, and how she had never blinked at the concept of murder, and her good-for-nothing husband, and how they were there in the city.... and she had told him time and time again when they were younger that she would listen to him on the radio when he got the job.... oh </span> <span class="s2"> <em>excellent.</em> </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny was back, and they had resumed walking.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look.... bad.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What a peculiar thing to say. “How so, dear?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look about ready to pass out— woah!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wondering what Johnny was going on about was the last thing Alastor thought before he collapsed in the man’s arms.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For fuck’s sake....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor muttered something mostly incoherent as his eyelids fluttered, but John caught the word “murder” in there and that freaked him out a bit.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, Al? I don’t think I got it in me to carry you anymore.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Positioning the man more comfortably, John waited as Alastor slowly regained his awareness.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm Johnny,” Alastor drawled. “I ‘ave an idea.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jesus Fucking Christ.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am goin’ to kill dem.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Alastor had mumbled something more ordinary then John might have chuckled at the southern accent slipping out, but as it was he was slightly unnerved by the statement.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“God, Al, you must be </span> <em> <span class="s2">non compos mentis</span> </em> <span class="s1"> if y’think that’s a good idea.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sat in silence. The rain was letting up somewhat, although John was still soaked and cold and he knew that Alastor wasn’t faring any better. The man seemed delirious, which would explain the batshit crazy way he was thinking.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On second thought....</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor had just been dragged through hell by men he didn’t even know, and he deserved to take some control of his situation back. If that meant doing something nuts, then.... John might not support him, but he wouldn’t stop him. Alastor was weird and annoying and possibly slightly unhinged but as John looked at him he saw something shift in his expression. A steel determination was fighting back the exhaustion in Alastor’s eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s get ourselves t’my place before we kill anyone, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello!! I hope you enjoyed this somewhat longer chapter. The girl introduced here will be relevant soon. Comments are always appreciated!</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Bearcat: vivacious, strong-willed woman<br/>Chump: gullible or stupid man<br/>Doll: young woman</p><p>Cher: darling<br/>Non Compos Mentis: crazy, of unsound mind</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. For Me ‘Till Dawn, I’ll be Too Gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny’s house was quaint and dreary, and Alastor felt like the walls were closing in on him. He was seated on the end of a bed while Johnny was rummaging around the house. Alastor knit his fingers into the duvet and willed his mind to stop spiralling. The walls were not moving in.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tried to focus on little details, anything in the house that was uniquely Johnny’s taste. It was surprisingly neat, although papers were strewn about the nightstand. Dust was everywhere, and the place smelled musty, as if its resident had never opened a window to let in fresh air. There were no photographs on the walls, which Alastor found strange. Come to think of it, he had never heard Johnny mention any family. No photographs, nothing sentimental. The one thing that caught Alastor’s attention was a little porcelain figurine, but it was too dim to make it out clearly. He also wasn’t wearing his spectacles, as they were set on the nightstand, broken.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor allowed himself to sink into the bed. It was so incredibly comfortable, so soft.... Alastor could feel himself drifting off. With reluctance he sat up straighter, pressing the backs of his knees into the cold metal bed-frame in an effort to stay awake. It would be embarrassing if Johnny came in only to find him passed out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a minute Johnny shuffled into the room, and Alastor watched him through half-lidded eyes. He looked slightly unstable, hunched over as if he were carrying a heavy weight on his back. In his arms he clutched several objects. As he drew closer Alastor tensed. Neither of them had spoken since entering the house, and he wasn’t quite sure what Johnny had planned.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man knelt slowly on the floor in front of Alastor, gingerly setting the objects down. “Al, you awake?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good.... are you in pain?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Surprisingly, no. Alastor hadn’t considered that until Johnny asked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All of a sudden a hand was at his neck. He jerked away, falling onto the bed as Johnny withdrew his hand and.... right. It was just him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry.” Johnny sounded sheepish. “Can I touch you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At a frustratingly slow pace, Alastor clambered back to a sitting position. He stared at Johnny, trying to make out his expression. It was easier to see then for some reason. It took a moment for him to realize that a light had been switched on. Johnny was looking at him with what may have been concern, or confusion. Then Alastor noticed that his mouth was moving.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“— you still with me? Alastor?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gave a slight nod.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You keep zoning out.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor wanted to reply by stating how peculiar that was, but he couldn’t muster the energy to do anything but stare dumbly at Johnny as the man hovered in front of him, unsure of what to do.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... M’ta sleep now, if you le’me.” Alastor despised how weak and ruined his voice sounded.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know, just hang on.” Johnny brought a glass up. “Drink this.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What ‘sa....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny’s mouth raised slightly at one corner. “Whiskey mixed with somethin’ special. You’re fucked and even if you ain’t feeling pain it’s there; this’ll help.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wanted to kindly ask that Johnny did not drug him, but instead he took the glass and raised it to his lips. Before Alastor had second thoughts he downed the glass quickly and then dropped it on the bed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Johnny asked again if he could touch him, Alastor complied. The minutes blended together as he slowly let himself relax. He noticed that his wrists had been bandaged and dry, too-big clothes had been draped over him. When all of that had happened Alastor wasn’t sure. Perhaps he had lost focus for longer than he thought.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hands gently brushed his neck, and Alastor felt a dull pain where he was touched. He knew that he should be feeling more, but it seemed that exhaustion was taking its toll on his senses. Johnny held a cold cloth to his skin. It felt nice, and his eyes slid shut as his friend held his shoulders to prevent him toppling over. Alastor might flay him alive later for treating him so kindly, but for the moment he didn’t mind.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After an indiscernible amount of time Alastor found himself laying in the bed, completely dazed. Thoughts of his mother and Madeleine-Amélie flitted through his mind, but they weren’t dwelled on for long. The soft duvet had been piled around him and he would have passed out in its embrace immediately, had another weight not joined him on the bed.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John gazed thoughtfully at his friend. Alastor was sprawled out on his bed, utterly out of it, but John could tell that he was still awake.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Goodnight, Al.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor mumbled something so quiet that John hardly heard it over his still-raspy breathing. He couldn’t make any sense of it, but he smiled anyways. Whether Alastor was talking about murder or just saying goodnight didn’t matter to John.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was tired too. Very tired and rather drunk and his mind muddled through what to do next. Alastor was now blissfully conked out. John was still worried.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t want to leave his friend alone in the room all night. He also didn’t want to sleep on the floor or put in the effort of dragging a chair in. The bed was big enough for both of them, he reasoned.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John ended up asleep next to Alastor. They were as far apart as possible, for the sake of Al’s comfort, and neither of them were bothered. In a half-asleep stupor Alastor noticed John beside him, and didn’t think anything of it as he let the night claim him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He trusted Johnny.... they were friends, after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aaaannd the end of what I consider to be part one!! It seems that no matter how much I tell myself that I’m writing about nasty heinous characters, fluffy chapters keep sneaking in.</p><p>If you’re wondering, the “somethin’ special” in Al’s drink was laudanum, an old-timey, somewhat frowned-upon painkiller containing opium.</p><p>Anyways I love the platonic bed-sharing cliché.... can you tell?</p><p>As always comments are always appreciated and I hope you enjoyed this thing!</p><p>This chapter title is a line from the song “O Sleep”, by Lisa Hannigan.</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>None lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Two Rather Tired Cats</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When John was roused from a deep sleep by light shining aggressively through a crack in the window blinds, his first thought was that he must be late for work considering it was already light outside.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His second thought was of Alastor and the previous night.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Fuck—“</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He unceremoniously struggled to sit up and his head immediately began to pound. Blinking and smacking himself awake, he noticed two things as his senses returned. First off, he felt absolutely horrible, nausea creeping up in his throat as a strong headache set in. Must’ve been the booze and the stress. John would’ve gladly fallen into his bed again had he not noticed the other thing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor was gone.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh for fuckin’....” John staggered out of his bed, ripping his legs from the tangled up sheets and trying to ignore that his head felt like it was being subjected to some sort of pulsing, crushing, alien death ray. The right side of the bed had clearly harboured someone judging by the indent in the mattress, but said someone was nowhere to be seen. John checked every room, even under furniture. All he found was a disgruntled tabby, who had been enjoying a rest under the armchair before John had disturbed her.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry Checkers,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had been elusive when Alastor was there, due to her shy— or rather, unfriendly— nature. John was glad that she hadn’t popped out in the night to claw Alastor’s face off; it would’ve only made their situation worse.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John left her to her beauty sleep and turned tired eyes to the door.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Should he....</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No, no way. Whatever Alastor was thinking, running off early to do god knows what, John wouldn’t intervene. He would be heading to the radio station, or perhaps he had plans to get blood on his hands, or maybe he would just pass out in the streets, much to the confusion of any passerbyes. It wasn’t John’s damn business what the idiot was doing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His gaze was drawn to the old grandfather clock, the most obnoxiously spiffy thing he owned. The time was early, very early, and John recalled that Alastor was always at work by six o’clock sharp. It wasn’t even that, and as soon as John realized the time he felt the effects of insufficient sleep weighing him down. Neither he nor Alastor could have gotten more than two hours of it, considering when John had checked the time shortly before collapsing into his bed the previous night, it had been well into the young hours of morning. With a string of curses that would’ve put a sailor to shame, John bumbled around his house until he had managed to knock over several things and, more importantly, he had got his shoes on. Or rather, one of his shoes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How the hell do I lose a shoe....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A better question, he realized, was why the hell he was intent on getting that shoe. He had already decided he wasn’t going out after Alastor. Right. He would stay all cozy in his house while Al.... did Al take his shoe?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A few more minutes of bumbling around led John to discover that Alastor had apparently raided his closet, his toiletries, and his coffee maker, and the overall mess left that Al wouldn’t usually tolerate told John that he must have been in quite a hurry.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor’s busted spectacles were still on John’s nightstand. He gingerly picked them up, contemplating.... something, as he idly twisted the metal frame into a better condition.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With his pounding headache only amplified by exhaustion and annoyance, John did not want to think much more on his friend. So instead of thinking, he left the house and headed down the shadowed streets toward the radio station.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And thus, part two begins.</p><p>Hello! Of course John/Husk would have a cat.</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>None, just a lot of swearing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. An Annoyance, Then Another</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor felt like absolute shit. He wasn’t one to use such profane language, but no synonym felt quite so accurate.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He walked through a bustling neighborhood, pushing past others rushing to work, and for the first time in a long time he felt stifled by the crowd. As if he were drowning in the flurry of suits and briefcases and those ugly sweater vests worn by the newsboys. Alastor clutched the lapels of his borrowed jacket to hide the probable bruising on his neck and tried to nonchalantly maneuver through the crowd, as if this were just another regular work day for him. He supposed it technically was, if he ignored the going-downs of the previous night.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sunlight streaked through the dusky sky, bathing the tips of the neighbourhood golden. Normally Alastor welcomed mornings, but he felt too tired to pay the demanding sunlight much attention. On a usual work morning he would be traipsing happily along, perhaps whistling a tune with a cup of joe in hand as he surveyed the surrounding bustle, judging others for their sleepy faces and hastily put-together outfits. Currently, however, Alastor’s confidence had dwindled, and he was simply trying to get to the station without being trampled.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seemed Lady Luck was against him that morning as he found himself stumbling over the shoes of a newsboy, who shrieked: “Watch it mista! Hey, you want today’s paper? Issa good one: ‘23 Dead in Horrific Cra—‘“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m alright, thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Awright mista.... hey, ya that radio man, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor squinted at the boy. He couldn’t have been more than twelve, with dusty blonde hair spilling out of his newscap like spaghetti, covering bright blue eyes and a dimpled grin. Alastor had seen the kid often, selling papers as he went to work. He occasionally bought one, and the boy was always eager to chat. Alastor never considered indulging him until he began offering to buy them both breakfast in exchange for some company. Where a newsie got money to spare for a stranger was unknown.... regardless, Alastor found him to be rather annoying.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kid bounced on his feet. “Yeah, hey that jacket’s too big on ya, where’s ya cheaters? Ya sound sick, are ya awright? Hey ya want any coffee or anythin’?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor held up a hand to stop his incessant yapping, momentarily forgetting the bandages on his wrist. His shirt cuff slid down slightly, and the kid brushed hair out of his face, eyeing his wrist with furrowed brows.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor pulled the cuff back into place and nonchalantly tucked his arms behind his back. The boy looked suspicious.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A mere accident, do not fret.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s rather not your business, hm?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kid bit his lip to prevent more words tumbling out. He gave a curt nod. Alastor gave him a pointed expression, conveying that he should refrain from squawking quite so much. Getting the message, the kid started to shuffle away, and Alastor was ready to continue his walk when a small voice piped up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ya sure y’ain’t takin’ the paper?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, Alastor dug around in his pocket and produced a couple coins he borrowed from Johnny. He held them out to the bothersome newsie, careful to keep his shirt cuffs in place. The kid beamed and hastily traded the coins for a paper, stuffing them in his satchel while Alastor regarded the news with little interest. The big bold headlines were the only words on the paper that he could make out without his spectacles, but the rest was a blurry mess so Alastor folded the paper and tucked it away into his jacket.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, ah....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anthony, rememba’? But y’can call me Tony, mista radio man!” He adjusted his newscap, causing more hair to fall in his face. “Ya want coffee?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor hurried away before the boy could barrage him with any more conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a few more minutes and a few too many close encounters with badly-driven buggies, Alastor could see the roof of his workplace. He straightened his shirt and combed back his hair, putting on a wide grin.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something touched his shoulder and Alastor would have brushed it off as simply a result of such a crowded space, but then the grip tightened ever so slightly. Alastor whipped around, clipping the skin and stubble of someone’s chin with a fist he wasn’t aware of making. Pain flared in his chest from the sudden movement. The bustle of his surroundings no longer mattered as all of Alastor’s senses honed in on whoever had dared grab him. He was willing to admit that the previous night had left him rather paranoid, and all he could assume was that someone was attacking him... until he saw Johnny looking frazzled with eyes as wide as saucers, a red mark forming on his chin where he was hit. Alastor suddenly felt very foolish.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The hell was <em>that</em> for!?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quickly regaining his composure, Alastor sneered at him. “Do not startle me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny looked about ready to bust a fuse, but luckily for both of their sakes he remained civil. He jabbed a thumb in the direction Alastor had come from, looking quite pissed-off. Alastor had no intention of humouring him at the moment, and he was well aware of the scrutinizing glances they were receiving from the crowd.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re causing a scene, Johnny.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man had all the sophistication of a swarm of gnats, and while Alastor knew this well, he was somewhat embarrassed on his behalf. Johnny loomed in front of Al, with a horrible case of bed head and an even more hideous expression on his mug. Alastor almost laughed out loud when he noticed that he was only wearing one shoe, but he refrained. Johnny may be disinclined to punch him, but he was most likely sober, and as Alastor had very little experience with a sober Johnny he wasn’t sure what to expect.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... Is there something you wanted?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor raised an eyebrow, annoyance creeping into his voice as he told Johnny that his presence was quite unnecessary and to please leave him alone. He pivoted sharply so his back was to Johnny, making it clear that any conversation he was planning would not be tolerated.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have good Cognac.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That got his attention. Alastor turned his head just enough to give Johnny a curled-lip, empty smile. If Johnny knew him as well as Alastor thought, then he would know that that particular smile meant Alastor was well past being amiable.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And why, pray tell, are you inviting me back to your.... residence? For a drink, no less, there must be something you want.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny glowered at him. “What I want is for you t’stop bein’ a tenacious little shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Oh my, </span> <em> <span class="s2">tenacious,</span> </em> <span class="s1"> I didn’t realize your vocabulary spanned that far!”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two men must have seemed like opposites to any bystanders as Johnny glared and Alastor grinned. Alastor, however, noticed how exhausted Johnny looked, and how past all the obvious anger his gaze seemed almost pleading. Alastor did not appreciate that.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Johnny.... go home.” Alastor realized how cold he sounded only after he had spoken.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al.” Johnny looked unnaturally serious. “You need some fuckin’ rest. Have you looked in a mirror yet?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quite frankly Alastor couldn’t remember, the morning had been such a blur.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I assume you’re going to tell me that I look like I’ve been unceremoniously run over by a train.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Close enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Charming.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Whatever Johnny had to say would not convince him. Alastor was going to work, and then after he would have a drink and go home. He would not indulge any of Johnny’s worries. He would not dwell on the previous night.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor kept telling himself that when he ended up sitting on Johnny’s couch twenty minutes later. All that had happened after their argument was that Johnny had walked off in a huff. Alastor had looked at the entrance to his radio station. He had seen movement through the windows, and heard laugher echoing off walls. Some treacherous thought had wheedled into his brain and insisted that he follow his.... friend. Maybe it was that he felt out of place standing in the crowd because his memory was riddled with gaps and blurred spots, and everyone else was simply rushing to work. Alastor couldn’t think straight.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So twenty minutes later Johnny handed him a glass of liquor and neither man said a word.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anthony who could that be I wonder. He’ll be back later :)<br/>If you are wondering yes, Al did steal a shoe. He lost one of his the previous night and he’s not as subtle as he thinks.<br/>That new Helluva episode dragged my cold decaying body out of the ground.<br/>Thanks for reading!!</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Joe: coffee<br/>Newsie: newsboy<br/>Cheaters: eyeglasses<br/>Buggies: old-timely cars<br/>Clipping: punching (in this context)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Somewhat Broken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny eventually said something, but he didn’t seem intent on following through with an actual topic of conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stood across from Alastor, clearly uncomfortable with the way he kept shuffling his feet. Alastor was perched on a couch that looked and felt like it was made entirely of knitted, scratchy wool, and he sat perfectly still with his drink. He gave Johnny an expectant expression, but the man stared right back and pursed his lips so that no other words could possibly escape.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor felt like they were in an interrogation and neither of them knew their roles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"> <em>“So,”</em> </span> <span class="s1"> Alastor mimicked. “Do you.... not have work?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny sighed. “I’m pretending I don’t. This takes priority.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Something between smugness and mild embarrassment befell Alastor. “Oh </span> <span class="s2"> <em>really?</em> </span> <span class="s1"> I didn’t realize you ca—“</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t throw me some line, Al.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor was concocting some witty retort for that when a spotted grey cat appeared from under a nearby armchair. Alastor didn’t recall a cat being there the night before, but considering the multitude of gaps in his memory she may well have been. The feline paid him no mind and stretched out on the carpet.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny cleared his throat. “Um, this is Checkers. She’s.... not too friendly. Don’t pet her.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor took note of that last bit in his mind. “I wasn’t aware you lived with anyone.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who? The little miss here?” Johnny playfully nudged the cat with his foot, getting several claws in the flesh in return. He pulled away and his usual dour expression returned.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh Johnny, dear, it seems that you lucked out on acquaintances. Neither I nor the little lady seem to bring you much cheer!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny grumbled something and took a swig straight from the liquor bottle. He didn’t say anything as Alastor got up and walked to the washroom mirror. Alastor stared. It was a good thing he’d set his glass down beforehand, because the sight would’ve surely caused it to be dropped.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A disheveled man gaped back at Alastor through the mirror. Bits of dried blood clung to his cheek and lips, mostly hidden by wild, dirty hair; he looked sick and exhausted. Across his neck there was a line of dark bruises, like some sort of hideous collar. A smile was forcefully stitched on his face. He may well have just crawled out of a buried coffin.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe it would’ve been better if he had brought his glass and dropped it. The sound would’ve alerted Johnny, who might’ve dragged Alastor away from the mirror before he could think any further. Or maybe Johnny would have left him standing there, broken glass scattered on the floor....</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al? It’s uh, it’s been several minutes an’ you haven’t moved.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Alastor didn’t reply. How was he supposed to? His voice was gone, his throat was crushed, a heavy rope was pulled tight around his neck and </span> <span class="s2"> <em>he was dead.</em> </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Was he? No.... he could feel something warm clutched in his hands. Slowly, the fog clouding his vision dispersed and he saw the walls of Johnny’s living room. When had his vision gone dark? A delicious smell drifted up, and he looked down at the cup in his hands. Coffee, perhaps, although he didn’t recall making any. Coffee wasn’t supposed to smell like chocolate.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hummed, just out of habit, and was surprised to find that his voice worked. It didn’t sound very good, but he could make a sound which meant that he definitely was not dead.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alastor?” Johnny leaned sideways to meet Alastor’s eyes. He looked rather funny, standing so awkwardly. “You completely.... spaced out, I guess. It was fucked.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor wasn’t sure what expression he was giving Johnny, but the man’s face was covered with worry and Alastor did not like that. He willed a coherent thought to surface, something to tell him to stop being a sap and give Johnny a proper smile. Nothing of that sort happened. Alastor had lost control over his own character, and that bothered him greatly. At least he could think now, somewhat. Hmm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He realized that he’d been getting lost in his odd inner monologue again when Johnny moved to sit beside him on the couch. Alastor tensed, preparing himself to be touched, but Johnny just sat silently.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Alastor couldn’t relax. He felt off-kilter and empty. Johnny had seen him at his worst; there wasn’t anything that Alastor had left to lose. His fingers inched towards Johnny’s hand before he thought </span> <em> <span class="s2">fuck it</span> </em> <span class="s1"> and leaned against the startled man’s shoulder. Thankfully, Johnny didn’t move away, so Alastor nestled closer and closed his eyes. He really was quite tired.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... I made you some hot chocolate. We’ve had enough booze.” Johnny spoke softly, as if he worried that Alastor would be spooked away by anything mildly contentious.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For the first time since before he was attacked, Alastor settled for a small, natural smile. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! As someone who has had significant space-out episodes before, they are weird and disorienting and I do not recommend!!</p><p>This will be my last post before 2021, so happy New Years! Thank you for reading!!</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Throw a Line: false complimenting<br/>Booze: liquor</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Half-Past Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The grandfather clock was tick-tocking around half-past twelve when Alastor shuffled into the doorway to the living room. He had been sleeping in John’s bedroom, and now that he was better rested he looked more like his old, obnoxious self. Well, not quite; he looked too battered. His hair was ridiculous, styling oil residue causing tufts of it to stick up all over. His cracked spectacles were perched precariously atop his nose, misaligned due to the bent frame. John tried to ignore the strong bruising on his neck, revealed by the drooping collar of his borrowed oversized shirt. Focus on something else. Alastor’s cheesy grin was back on his face, good.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John reclined in his armchair, giving Alastor a scrutinizing look.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have a couple questions, Al.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor tried desperately and unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “What?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, first off, why the hell did you take my shoe?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm? Oh. I needed it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Landry, I swear to god—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was missing one of my own, and I was in a rush for work. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh-why didn’t you take both of mine then? You really thought wearing mismatched shoes of wildly different sizes would get you smoothly past your boss?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, that would’ve just been rude.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John pressed his fingertips to his temple, trying to ignore his still-raging headache.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“....I don’t sound that awful.” Alastor stated quietly. John wasn’t sure if he was asking for an opinion.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, you do. If either of us had any fuckin’ sense you would’a gone to a doctor.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re being quite a pill today, Johnny.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Those words were incentive for John to bust out his angry side. He wasn’t sure why Alastor was trying to get a rise out of him; maybe the man wanted some normalcy. John getting pissed off was definitely a common occurrence.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That made him feel bad. He scowled at Alastor, but kept his mouth shut.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Al raised his eyebrows, his Cheshire grin making John a tad uncomfortable. “Where’d your wonderfully vivacious personality go, dear?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John was too damn tired for this bullshit.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you going to stand in my bedroom doorway and taunt me all afternoon?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The grin widened, pulling Alastor’s face taut in an unnatural way. It was getting a little bit creepy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It got creepier when Alastor shuffled closer. He sat delicately down on the couch and stared at John. Unfortunately for Alastor, his little show was ruined when he began sinking into the all-consuming couch cushion. He floundered for a moment while John snickered. Checkers chose to make herself a nuisance at that exact time, emerging from under the couch and jumping up on Alastor’s lap. The poor man froze as the cat draped herself over his legs and they sank further into the couch.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John was cackling now. “Need some.... need some help, Al?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Alastor looked frantic as he tried to regain a more dignified position on the couch while trying not to aggravate Checkers. “I’ve had </span> <em> <span class="s2">quite</span> </em> <span class="s1"> enough of your </span> <span class="s2"><em>help</em> </span><span class="s1">recently.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">As soon as he heard </span> <em> <span class="s2">that</span> </em> <span class="s1"> John’s laughter died out faster than an untethered flame.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor took a chance and slid off the couch, grimacing as Checkers dug her claws into his thighs. He shoved her off and fled to the safety of the more sturdy armrest. The now very pissed-off cat hissed at him and darted away.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The smiling man’s voice was eerily calm. “I said, dear, that I do not require nor</span> <span class="s2"><em>want</em> </span> <span class="s1">any more of your help. And as a matter of fact, I never asked for it last night.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They really were opposites. John was seething.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I saved your fucking <em>life</em>,</span> <span class="s1"> Alastor.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh ho! You did, and I’m sure the Saints are looking down upon you with boundless praise, however I did not require—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“What the hell is </span> <em> <span class="s2">wrong with you?”</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’m strongly considering murder, so there’s that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Deep down beneath all the anger and general annoyance that came with dealing with Alastor, John had an idea of why he was being an asshole. Alastor held onto control like it was something precious. It probably was, to him. Admitting that he needed help was akin to giving it up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it didn’t matter what Alastor’s stupid reasons were. He was being ungrateful and stuck-up, despite owing everything to John—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Should I have just....“ John’s voice fell from a shout to a seething whisper, “.... left you to die?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor’s creepy grin shrunk, turning into a slightly unsettling smirk. “No. Perhaps I was overly curt. John....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not Johnny. Just John.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... I am thankful for what you did. Really. I.... I suppose....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor being at a loss for words had been an incredibly rare occurrence before the last night. He turned his head and gazed with half-hearted interest at John’s boring flower-print wallpaper.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silence.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not Johnny. That had never happened before. From the moment they were introduced Alastor had always called him Johnny, or dear, maybe darling. Every time it had never been just his name.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John probably wasn’t supposed to feel as hurt by that as he did.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you’re feeling better you should go home, Alastor.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A sickening regret expanded in his chest as soon as he had spoken, crawling up in his throat. John felt disgusting, kicking Alastor out, but he was frozen and he didn’t take it back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor’s voice was a little too loud when he replied. “Swell idea.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By quarter-to-one on the clock Alastor was gone. For the rest of the afternoon John sat slumped in his armchair with a flask of moonshine gripped in his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*slaps characters* “these boys can have so many avoidable and easily solvable arguments”</p><p>Hello!!</p><p>These two fools really have no communication skills, huh. Figures. In case you’re wondering, they’re both in the wrong here. Alastor is being rather rude, while John has the misconception that Alastor owes him praise and gratitude. While it would be nice for Alastor to be a bit more thankful, he really doesn’t have to be. John saving him was his own decision, not Alastor’s, and neither of them want to be in their situation so hoooo boy.</p><p>I gguuuueeeessssssss it’s now up to the boys whether they want to salvage their dumpster fire of a friendship or not :)</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Pill: unlikable person<br/>Swell: good<br/>Moonshine: strong liquor</p><p>A “Cheshire grin” is a term for a wide and unsettling smile, named after the Cheshire Cat.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Radio Blahblah</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Greetings to all the great fellers and dames listening in on this fine morning! Well, fine as it can be with a grey sky from here to the easternmost little corner of Long Island!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor laughed heartily, catching the on-duty board operator give an eye roll from behind the glass. Alastor wiggled his eyebrows at the man and resolved to be as exasperating as possible without getting in trouble, just so he could keep getting such lovely reactions from his colleagues.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He finished his introduction before handing the spotlight off to the rather humdrum weatherlady. He muddled through his notes as she droned on about the rain and clouds and whatnot. Once he had skimmed over his notes he tossed them all to the floor, earning a scowl from the operator and an annoyed side-eye from the weatherlady. Such fun!</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The weather, the music, the trends, and then came what Alastor liked to call the ‘buttering-up time’. Specifically, the time near the end of a show when he would give the listeners something to look forward to. To hook them in with his lovely voice and charming personality!</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Better keep it short this time, he thought. If he talked for much longer his voice would certainly fade out; his throat was already getting sore. He just needed to say what was necessary.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“We’re finishing up for the morning, but </span> <span class="s2"> <em>ah!</em> </span> <span class="s1"> Something all you folks might want to know....” He paused for dramatic effect. “It seems there’s been some tussles down by—“ Ah yes, location, he’d forgotten that....</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Perhaps the little café by the river would do. Best not to get too specific. It was quite a dull street, the only good place to go was the Sleepy Dolls café.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He spluttered out the name of the nearest intersection to there and then mentally kicked himself for not preparing seriously. The weatherlady, sitting quietly at the side, raised her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor widened his grin to compensate for his little mishap. None of his listeners would see it, of course, but it was all part of his showmanship! His charismatic smile would carry over to his voice.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yessir, it seem that there’s been some hoodlums causing quite a ruckus ‘round there. Nothing new for our wonderful city, of course, but my good conscience is begging me to implore that you all keep yourselves safe out there.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His voice really was failing now. He inconspicuously cleared his throat and continued faster.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ve received a tip from a doll who gave us her name as ‘Missy’. The poor thing had a scuffle two nights ago down there. She warns that folks should be careful outside at night....”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he brought up a civilian on air, he’d have to have them ready on call by the next day or else he’d be in some trouble. It was already bad that he hadn’t confirmed this segment with his supervisor, and he hadn’t gotten ‘Missy’ to call ahead and make sure that the story was appropriate for the show. This was such a shot in the dark.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So stay safe everyone!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He barely got through the rest of his show before his voice completely failed him. He was quite frustrated by the end and he had the urge to smash his microphone over the boring weatherlady’s head. He might even do it, if she didn’t stop glaring at him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Landry, you sure you ran those topics by the boss? I hadn’t heard anything about—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rest assured I did ma’am, perhaps you simply were not informed! As, of course, you only cover the weather.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor scurried out of the little room and squeezed passed the glass before he could be reprimanded further. The board operator gave him a quizzical glance. He seemed altogether uninterested in whatever game Alastor was playing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bored board operator, Alastor thought. He snickered quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know what you’re doing?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course, my good fellow!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, get outa here before Dorothy gets any redder in the face. And pick up your damn notes, Landry.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor left for his lunch break. Well, it wasn’t really a lunch break considering the time was eight in the morning but he was hungry. He had a script to write, which he would work on over coffee and a muffin, although it wasn’t really a proper script considering it was mostly incomprehensible diagrams that only he understood. He also had other things to think about. Things to worry about and ponder over and organize.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John, on the contrary, was not thinking about anything. Not at that very moment, at least. As soon as the radio was turned off he had decided that he deserved a drink. And then another. And perhaps another. Pretty soon he was in outer space. It wasn’t even noon yet.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had been thinking and worrying over quite a lot of things when he had tuned in to Alastor’s radio show after waking up at a horribly early hour. It had been a fairly boring one, and John could understand why Al had kept it neat and concise. He had sounded god-awful. Wide-range radio shows were a new furor and there were a lot of improvements that could be made to the sound quality, so luckily the worst of Alastor’s ruined voice was hidden under the screechy static. Why anyone would listen to the radio every day was a mystery to John. It hurt his ears.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He listened to Alastor’s show every day.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">John had been struck by how </span> <em> <span class="s2">quiet</span> </em> <span class="s1"> he had sounded that morning, compared to the usual glitz he brought to his shows.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He drowned out that thought with a drink.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor was up to something and it had only been two goddamn nights since he was attacked. If John were in his situation, he would be spending his time recovering instead of plotting. Although he supposed that his idea of “recovery” was drinking until he passed out. He was attempting that now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite his full intention to drink himself straight to Hell, his last coherent thought was that he would go down to the gin mill that night to talk to Alastor.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello dear readers! I hope you enjoyed! No I do not know anything about New York! Don’t ask me any questions about it or else I will disintegrate instantaneously!</p><p>Remember that girl? Yeah.</p><p>Also hey uh coming up with semi-consistent chapter titles is fuckin’ difficult. Like I even got a list of possibilities an’ everything. It’s still hard. Jjust.... *tosses in a queen lyric because I’m tired*</p><p>This chapter title is a line from the song “Radio Ga Ga” by Queen.</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920’s Slang:</p><p>Feller: man<br/>Dame: woman<br/>Hoodlum: trouble boy, criminal<br/>Doll: young woman<br/>Gin Mill: speakeasy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. A Discursive Damsel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Her name is Madeleine-Amélie.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a pretentious-ass name.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor snickered. “Well, she’s from a pretentious-ass family.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A stupid mushy delight wormed its way into John’s heart. He made Alastor laugh, at least a little bit. He turned his head away so that Alastor couldn’t see the red on his cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, so, what’s her standing with you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Childhood friend, quite a.... remarkable dame. Quite loud.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John sat across from Alastor at a little table in the chosen café. He had to admit it was a rather nice place, which unfortunately meant that it was filled to the brim with customers. Alastor still looked frazzled, although he was obviously trying to regain his usual poise. He rhythmically drummed his fingers on the tabletop as his eyes flitted between John and the café door.... was he nervous? That would be a first. As for himself, John most certainly looked just as much of a mess as always and he didn’t know how to feel about the situation.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor had approached him at the bar the previous night with a mischievous grin and a topic of conversation. He told John about a girl he knew and a café he liked and a meeting time, and John didn’t remember the rest because he had downed a little too much booze.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was Saturday, which was the lucky day of no work and no church. John wished that he was sitting at home with a drink and his cat, maybe a good book. Unlike Alastor, he didn’t mesh well with daytime society.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor was now completely silent, which was a small miracle. John had thought before that if the man ever shut up he would relish it, but now it made him uneasy. He didn’t really appreciate his companion’s usual ramblings, but some normalcy would have been nice.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The odd duo were getting some looks from the surrounding customers, but Alastor hadn’t singled anybody out as Madeleine-Amélie. They had been there for a while and John’s coffee was getting cold. Alastor’s agitation was beginning to rub off on him, and both of them avoided each other’s eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A sudden commotion near the door caught John’s attention. He couldn’t see much through the crowd, but a woman’s loud voice had cut through the common chatter of the more polite customers. John focused on listening. As the voice rambled on he figured an argument had erupted between the loud, distinctly southern girl and a harder-to-hear waitress.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor glanced at John. His smile was sharp and politely hollow, as if he had carefully drawn it on with ink. Something about the look he was giving John tipped him off that he recognized the loud broad’s voice.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A tiny woman appeared, shouldering her way through the sea of customers. Alastor stared right at her, and when she saw him their gazes locked briefly before she made a bee-line for their table.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John immediately decided that she was covered in contradictions. Bright orange hair tied up with curling rags adorned her round face, and she wore a curled-lip snarl to match, which all seemed too vivid for such a small, dumpy girl. Wide-set blue eyes and a baby blue dress contrasted with the angry red blush that covered her from her head down to disappearing in her socks. And she had damn weird shoes. The most striking thing about her was her stature— John could’ve gotten on his knees and been eye-level with her— but the sheer intensity that radiated from her colourful form convinced John that he didn’t want to be kneeling down before the dame. He suddenly understood why she was friends with Alastor: no other two people had the same unhinged energy that came off in waves when their tempers flared.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stopped directly in front of Alastor, and he leaned back awkwardly in his chair to get some distance between them. Their weird staring contest continued for several seconds, and John was wondering whether he should say something to break the tension.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then the girl’s whole demeanour shifted. She grinned ear-to-ear and before John had a chance to get a word in she had thrown herself at Alastor, gripping his shirt sleeves and almost knocking both of them over.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">“Allie,</span> </em> <span class="s1"> you silly boy! Did you miss me? Who’s your friend?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her voice was sweet and drawly. Now that she was happier she really reminded John of.... candy, actually. Her voice and her form and her angry sweetness resembled personified sour taffy. The ridiculous thought left John somewhat bewildered as he tried to process what was happening.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">They left the café, and John was just minutes into meeting Madeleine-Amélie and she was.... a lot. The girl was speed-walking beside him, her stubby gams moving quickly to keep up with the taller men. Alastor had set the pace, strutting ahead of them while whistling a tune. That left John with the red-faced girl, who was grinning up at him with doe eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Say cat, I never asked your name!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“His name is Johnny!” Alastor called back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John glowered at him. “My name is John.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah Johnny, how quaint! So good fo’ Allie makin’ a friend.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was practically scuttling sideways now to keep looking at him. A cloche hat was stuffed over her curls, and she was twirling some hair around her finger while blushing like a schoolgirl.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Alastor let her call him “Allie”. What was up with these two and the nicknames they bestowed? Was it a southern thing?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh,” was all he said. Then, “your name?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knew her name already, but it seemed rude not to ask.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her rosy cheeks puffed up with her silly grin. “Call me Maddie.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maddie, hm?” Alastor snickered. “You only use that one with fellers you’ve fallen for.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl’s face got redder and she brandished her fists, suddenly looking ready to beat Alastor into the ground.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll beat de daylights outa your sorry eyes—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she lunged her ankle jerked outward and with a yelp and her threat cut short Maddie tumbled sideways. Without thinking John’s hands shot out to catch her. He managed to grab hold of her buttoned collar and yank her back to a standing position. Completely unnecessarily, Maddie used the momentum of being pulled upright to throw herself into him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She giggled and slowly moved away, her hands lingering on his chest. “How kind of you to catch me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
Looking at her with what he hoped wasn’t a petrified expression, John wasn’t quite sure how to react. She was such an openly flirtatious person, and he might’ve told her to go fuck herself if he had a few drinks in him. As it was, Alastor might sock him if John was that rude towards his lady friend.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her previous anger seemingly forgotten, Maddie continued walking. She was still giggling to herself, and she smoothed down her dress while talking a mile a minute between laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Johnny, how long you’ve known Allie for?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh. Two years an’ a third.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He talks about me tout l’temps, yes?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, actually—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’s handcuffed to a pretty girl already or no?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh— no—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh? Why not, you’s quite a looker. Aha! You dizzy wit a nice boy?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! Is it Alastor?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“NO—“</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Miss.”</span> <span class="s1"> Alastor turned around in resignation after trying to ignore the conversation behind him.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maddie stuck her tongue out at him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If the cold coffee John had downed at the café wasn’t keeping him awake, then Maddie definitely was. She had snaked her pudgy arm through his own and was currently stuck to his side like chewing gum.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ahhh, if Allie don’ talk about me den I suppose I can fill you in.” She jostled him, making him stumble. “We go back, way back, we was little, hell Allie was just a bébé when his ma started workin’ for my pop, an’ we would get in such trouble!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><em>“You</em> got <em>me</em> into such trouble, Miss,” said Alastor. “I tried to avoid you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know you love me! Anywho Johnny, you missed most de fun times.” Maddie’s expression changed minutely, becoming slightly wistful for a moment. And then John saw the scrutinizing look she was giving Alastor behind her cheerfulness. “I take it de fun times have passed now. Allie, why’d you call me up?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor stopped walking as they reached an intersection. The two behind him stopped as well, watching him. He was dressed up smartly with his hair slicked back, like usual, although his shirt collar was hiked up a bit too high. Alastor was definitely trying to hide his neck, as well as the bandages on his wrists, by pulling his shirt collar up and his sleeves down, but when he fully turned around John saw the bruising. The marks were still very strong and distinct against his skin, now an angry violet colour. Two nights ago they had been a bloody red mess, and John felt a twinge in his chest as the memory.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Either Maddie hadn’t noticed yet or she was keeping mum about it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor was obviously tired. Nevertheless, he gave the two a mischievous grin. “There’s been an attempted murder, cher, and there’s soon to be more. I wanted to inquire about your husband.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello!!</p><p>Yes, I’m throwing an OC into this story. The main focus is still Al and Husk, though. This gal’s gonna join the happy-murder-fun-times. Am I sorry? Absolutely not!</p><p>So it seems like Alastor has an ally. A tiny, angry ally. He also has Husk/John/whatever :)</p><p>Comments are always appreciated!</p><p>Also stan Verosika Mayday she cute</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang</p><p>Dame: woman<br/>Booze: liquor<br/>Broad: woman<br/>Gams: woman’s legs<br/>Cat: man<br/>Feller: man<br/>Sock: punch<br/>Handcuffed: engaged or married<br/>Looker: attractive person<br/>Dizzy (with): in love with</p><p>Cher: darling</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. In Her Shoes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was listenin’ to de radio and all a sudden I hear you talkin’ about me! Mais, I was flattered, but I must say I did not understand. Den you mention a place an’ I figured I best be dere early!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor grinned at her. “I knew you would be, Miss, you were always oh-so conscientious!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a good thing that Johnny had a fairly large living room, because Madeleine-Amélie was strutting around the room in a frenzy, almost running into walls, furniture, and the boys. Alastor was settled on Johnny’s armchair, listening to her fast-paced point of view of the last couple days. Crouched on the floor in front of him was his grumpy companion, with a death grip on Alastor’s right arm, scrubbing gently at the dried blood on his wrist.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor had changed his own bandages the previous night, but cleaning his wounds hadn’t gone very well and they ended up partially torn open again. Now he was reluctantly letting Johnny do it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hold still,” the man muttered. Alastor realized that he was subconsciously pulling his arm away.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Apologies, my good fell—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t apologize, just stop fuckin’ moving.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How disappointing! Alastor seldom apologized for anything, even casually as he had just attempted, but Johnny was not having it. Alastor pouted as best he could while keeping his smile up. Giving him a hilariously annoyed eye roll, Johnny turned to the lady.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lemme get this straight,” he said. “You hear Al mention you, not even by name, and he also mentions a general area, and says you were attacked there, which you weren’t.” Madeleine-Amélie nodded enthusiastically, imploring him to continue. “And so you decide to leave as soon as Al’s radio show was over after, um, y’said you called in?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mm-hm! Called in to de station to confirm his hokey story.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.... and.... then you show up at a café that he didn’t even bring up, convinced that you would find him there.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“An’ I did!” Her cheerful face became leering. “What, you think I couldn’t figure out Allie’s little plan? You think I’m empty up here?” She knocked on her head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“N-no! I actually—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re quite impressed with you, Miss,” Alastor chimed in. “You’d make a right good sleuth!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Madeleine-Amélie beamed at him, and then continued her rambling. Alastor couldn’t help but laugh as Johnny opened and closed his mouth in confusion like a fish; the poor man was falling victim to the lady’s constant mood changes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Laughing </span> <em> <span class="s2">might</span> </em> <span class="s1"> have been a mistake. Alastor felt a spike of pain in his chest. He wished that they had taken the trolley back to Johnny’s house. The amount of walking he’d been doing recently hadn’t done his injuries any favours, and he was getting rather tired of his whole damn body aching all the time.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noticing how Alastor tensed up, Johnny gave him a soft pat on the arm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Madeleine-Amélie paced around, humming out of tune. She was the picture of happiness until she pivoted around to give the boys a scowl. She was so much nicer looking when she smiled, Alastor thought, and even he was becoming unnerved by her refusal to address the murders that he had mentioned. He gave her an expectant look.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighed. “Would y’like to tell me what happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Did he? Not really. The situation was embarrassing enough without Alastor recounting how he was thoroughly beaten to a pulp. “No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Den don’ tell. You asked after my </span> <span class="s2"> <em>husband.”</em> </span> <span class="s1"> She said that last word like it tasted bad in her mouth.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Oh yes!” Alastor widened his grin, getting his confidence back. “Bear with me Miss, this </span> <span class="s2"> <em>may</em> </span> <span class="s1"> sound a </span> <span class="s2"> <em>tad</em> </span> <span class="s1"> crazy but I believe I met him the other day.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Until then it had seemed like Johnny wasn’t paying attention to the conversation as he finished tying off the bandages, but he suddenly snapped he head up. </span> <span class="s2"> <em>“What?</em> </span> <span class="s1"> You told me you never recognized any of ‘em.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor knew that Johnny was referring to the group of men he had scuffled with, and what he said was true. It had been too dark to see faces, and the assholes had been at least smart enough to not call out any names while they were jeering at him. However. Alastor had been doing quite a bit of staring at shoes while he was being assaulted.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The recollection had come to him in a haze when he was being dragged back to Johnny’s house. Eyes falling on a pair of shoes hardly three feet in front of him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When his memory of parting with Madeleine-Amélie before leaving New Orleans wormed it’s way into his mind, he had realized something about those shoes. He had just passed out in Johnny’s arms, which was terribly humiliating of course, and in his stupor it clicked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Hmm Johnny,” Alastor drawled. “I ‘ave an idea. I am goin’ to kill dem.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor would have definitely worded that better if he hadn’t been half-conscious at the time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The shoes worn by one of his attackers were not a popular model. In fact, they were not worn by anybody outside of the Boudreaux family. The mother of that family was a self-taught shoemaker, and she made the strangest shoes. Alligator hide shoes with beautiful embroidery.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor rubbed absentmindedly at his bandaged wrists, the smell of antiseptic making him crinkle his nose. “Miss, would you mind fetching your shoes?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Quirking her eyebrows, Madeleine-Amélie stared at him for a moment. Then, probably realizing that he was being serious, she walked over to the front hall. Alastor heard the heels of her shoes clacking together as she plucked them off the floor. She returned and waved the alligator hide shoes in front of Alastor’s face. The heels went </span> <em> <span class="s2">clack clack clack.</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about dem?” She smiled at Johnny. “Dey pretty, huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny looked between Alastor, the shoes, and the girl waving them around. “Uh. They look weird.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Half-expecting her to blow up again, Alastor’s curiosity was piqued when Madeleine-Amélie just plopped down on the rug, setting the shoes down in front of the armchair. She began to untie the curling rags in her hair, which was naturally fairly curly, but Alastor supposed she had started styling it. As the perfect curls came loose she looked like a pretty flapper girl, perhaps ready for an evening spent dancing. He wondered if her husband thought so too.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Miss, those shoes were made by your mother, yes?” Alastor asked, although he knew that of course they were.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Madeleine-Amélie nodded slowly. “She made a matchin’ pair for us, new an’ shiny, as a wedding gift. My husband never liked dem but my dearest maman made dem so nice, an’ I burned his other shoes so he had to wear de ones she made. He got </span> <em> <span class="s2">real mad</span> </em> <span class="s1"> and almost bought new ones, but I convinced him not, I’m quite the charmer!”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Uh-huh,” said Johnny. “You </span> <em> <span class="s2">burned</span> </em> <span class="s1"> his shoes.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ignoring him, Madeleine-Amélie gazed at her shoes. She then looked up at Alastor with a long, long, stare. He could tell when she realized what he was getting at. He was glad, he really didn’t want to tell her outright. Johnny, on the contrary, looked completely lost. Thankfully, he stayed silent. The boys waited for Madeleine-Amélie to speak.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Quite honestly, I was thinkin’ of findin’ you at your radio job, Allie.” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “My husband came stompin’ home real damn late three nights ago, an’ slammed de bedroom door in my face.” She twirled a strand of her hair absentmindedly. “I had to listen to your show in the next door lady’s sittin’ room.... ‘cause in de morning he smashes our radio into a million billion little bits.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was silence for several moments. Madeleine-Amélie chewed on her bottom lip before continuing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought he might’ve.... done something. He did not like me listening’ to you all de time. Thought I was fallen’ for you. An’ he hit me when I said you had a pretty voice.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last two curling rags were tied with the ends falling down, covering her ears. Madeleine-Amélie untied them and let the locks of hair bounce free. She tucked one curl, then the other, behind her bruised and swollen ears. She let the boys look for a moment before brushing the hair back over.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He bashes dem up when he catches me listenin’ to you. Says I don’ get to hear if I don’ listen to him an’ him only.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why’d you marry him?” Johnny sounded incredulous.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I love him.” Madeleine-Amélie shrugged. “I love lots of people. I picked him out of de bunch.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But he beats you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And I burned his shoes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Maddie, that’s not as fucking bad as </span> <em> <span class="s2">beating</span> </em> <span class="s1"> your </span> <em> <span class="s2">wife.”</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shrugged again. “Eh. He’s good to me until we disagree. I’d be up for cuttin’ ‘im down.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor kept his eyes on her as Johnny choked on his next words. The poor man clearly hadn’t expected such a direct murder affirmative from the little lady, but Alastor wasn’t surprised. He remembered years ago when she walked into his house to find his father dead, and she remarked how awful the house smelled before helping Alastor clean, scarily nonchalant considering the murder.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He put on his best devilish grin, the kind that made the bayou men’s wives pray for him because </span> <em> <span class="s2">surely no good child has a smile like that.</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor had been a good child. Mostly. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to be a good adult, so he supposed the devilish grin was finally appropriate.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excellent, ma cher!”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I finally finished my table of contents, so I have every chapter’s basic outline figured out! I am fully intent on writing this hideous thing to its end, no unfinished stories here!</p><p>This chapter is mostly laying some stuff down for where the plot’s hurtling towards. Foreshadowing is funky.</p><p>Also, we’ve reached the approximate halfway point of the story! Yay!</p><p>Stay tuned~<br/> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>(To) Cut Down: to kill</p><p>Ma Cher: my darling</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Knock Knock Knocking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a bout of consternation from Johnny and some fast-paced strategizing between the two Southerners, the trio parted ways. Madeleine-Amélie went home, Johnny collapsed on his bed, and Alastor walked helter-skelter around the city all the way to Broadway. He had needed to get the anticipatory energy out of his system, so that he’d have a chance at sleep.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Currently he was sitting in his favourite chair, hastily sewing something; he wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing with the fabric scraps as he stabbed the needle in and out. The stitches were poorly done. In all honesty Alastor just needed something to do with his hands, lest he tear his bandages off.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A knock sounded on the door and his hands froze. The sewing needle stopped a hair’s breadth from one of his fingertips.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello?” He called out, which was a silly thing to do considering he wasn’t near the door. Whoever was waiting on the doorstep surely wouldn’t have heard him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another knock came, noticeably louder than the first. Well, the person outside must’ve been quite impatient. Alastor resigned himself to the fact that he would have to open the door once a third knocking came, again louder. He was just putting his sewing down when the knocking came again; more of an aggressive pounding that time. How rude.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wondered for a moment if the mystery person could be Johnny or Madeleine-Amélie, but he was quite sure that neither of them had been given his address. It was a late hour, and besides his two friends dropping by for a little murder chat he couldn’t think of anyone else who would be banging on his door.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor darted into the kitchen, and slipped a carving knife out of the block. The little metallic sound made as the blade was lifted sent a shiver down his spine.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">When, for the </span> <em> <span class="s2">fifth time,</span> </em> <span class="s1"> someone clobbered at his door, Alastor rushed down the stairs three at a time. He stood in the front hall, the knife tucked neatly behind his back.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The abuse against his door had just started up again when Alastor opened it, almost getting a fist to the head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">There was a man on his doorstep. He was stout and built like a barrel, with his big barrel arms raised to hit the door. He was handsome, Alastor supposed, although he looked </span> <em> <span class="s2">very</span> </em> <span class="s1"> angry. Alastor grinned widely at him.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello, good sir! What brings you here at this hour?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The man didn’t move a muscle. He just stood there, his face turning the colour of a ripe tomato. Anger that strong, directed right at Alastor, meant one thing only. </span> <em> <span class="s2">One of them.</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, of course, Alastor couldn’t just slam the door in his tomato face. That wouldn’t solve any measly thing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For several seconds, the two men stood there in excruciating silence. Alastor did not have a plan yet, which was rather worrisome. He just had to play his best cards.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’ve you been?” Tomato Man’s tone was strained with a false friendliness.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Alastor was taken aback. </span> <em> <span class="s2">“Pardon?”</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ya know. After what happened, y’must be having a terrible time.” He still hadn’t moved, not a bit. Alarm bells were clanging in Alastor’s brain.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor put some honey on his words, like when he had to kiss up to his boss and act so overly amicable that it made him feel sick. “Oh, I’m quite alright.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A horrible pressure built up in his throat as he forced his casual words out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm,” said Tomato Man, who hadn’t moved, he hadn’t lowered his arms, his face was still twisted in rage despite his civil words, and Alastor would not be able to fein friendliness for much longer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was when Alastor made a mistake. A complete lapse in judgment.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Giddy with apprehension, which might have been fear if he admitted to that even though there was just a man and he didn’t even appear armed.... Alastor reached out.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Put your arms down, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His hand was slapped away, and so was his apprehension because, by that point, Alastor was definitely in some trouble.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man was a blur as a fist rushed at Alastor’s face, and he was dry-gulched before he could react. He wasn’t granted the dignity of even attempting to defend himself.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His shirt collar was bunched in the man’s grip, as he reeled back for a second blow. Alastor swung the knife around, ripping it from its hiding place behind his back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blade cleaved through flesh, and the man yowled.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">A sharp tug on his skull as Alastor’s hair was yanked, pulling his head away from the man, his body following as he stumbled and almost lost his grip on the knife. He twisted it numbly, earning a hideous cry from the man as Alastor’s head was slammed into the wall. His vision went completely grey for a moment as he crumpled against the wall, but he </span> <em> <span class="s2">could not</span> </em> <span class="s1"> let go of the knife. He managed to pull it out of the flesh it had been buried in, bringing it back against his chest. The were no hands grabbing at him, no feet kicking at him, and Alastor wondered how successful his stabbing was.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could hear ragged, heavy breathing, which signified that Tomato Man was still rather alive.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You </span> <em> <span class="s2">sick—“</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Alastor tried half-heartedly to tune the words out— “you </span> <em> <span class="s2">enjoy</span> </em> <span class="s1"> this. You’re having a </span> <em> <span class="s2">fucking ball.”</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">“You</span> </em> <span class="s1"> sought me out,” Alastor retorted. His head felt full of mushy cotton as he clambered to his feet. The greyness taking up his vision was slowly clearing, but Alastor needed a second. Just a second to regain his bearings. “This is simple self-defence, good sir.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the man lunged at him a second time, Alastor was ready. His knife stabbed into flesh. An encore performance. The noise coming from the man wasn’t a scream that time. It sounded like an anguished sob.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor had tried to get him square in the chest, but the man wasn’t a total idiot and had swerved as he came crashing against Alastor, yanking his hair again and moving behind him. The knife had dug into the man’s right arm. Alastor’s head was snapped to the side as the man moved with his fingers tangled in his hair. His recently-punched jaw and his bruised neck complained with a spike of pain at the sudden motion.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The knife was ripped out of the man’s arm as he flung Alastor to the ground, who promptly rolled away. The man managed to get one solid kick at Alastor as he rolled, striking him on the chest, which was definitely going to hurt a lot once the adrenaline was gone. Alastor swung himself into a crouch, like a cat ready to pounce. The man stumbled back out onto the porch, breathing heavily.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor tried to get a slant at where the man’s stab wounds were. There was a fairly small amount of blood dribbling down his right arm, and unfortunately it looked more like a graze than a significant stab. That arm would probably be cumbersome and painful for several days, but not useless. Luckily, there was a growing dark spot on the man’s side, which his hands were guarding protectively. Alastor hoped that he had hit something important, perhaps a kidney or any large blood vessel.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man’s face was twisted in a glaring grimace. Alastor felt a pang of triumph.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Didn’t expect your favourite radio host to have a knife at the ready, hm?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man growled some rather unflattering words. He backed away further.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Shit shit </span> <span class="s2"> <em>shit</em> </span> <span class="s1"> you don’t come any closer, hear me?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor obliged, which hurt his pride somewhat but the neighbour’s lights were flickering on. He felt a bit silly for not considering how the man’s screaming would awaken everyone on an otherwise quiet night. The old lady downstairs was mostly deaf, at least. She was likely sleeping soundly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took a moment for Alastor’s mind to catch up to the present, as he stared after the man’s receding form. Oh. He was running off. He supposed that was a good thing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Alastor took in a proper breath, his chest aching with the effort. What an awful night! He gave a quick, loud, and slightly insane-sounding laugh. Then he shut up, and pressed the knife into his pant leg before letting it slip from his hand. When in clattered to the floor in a metallic cacophony that sounded </span> <em> <span class="s2">far too loud,</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Alastor flinched. Everything was becoming ridiculous.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The most absurd thing about that encounter.... the man may have been correct. A very loud part of Alastor’s mind had been demanding that he shred him into bloody ribbons.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as his door was shut he leaned against the wall, letting a numbness swallow him. He stood there for a while too long, his chest squeezing painfully as it rose and fell. He absentmindedly nudged the knife with his foot, listening as it scraped against the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">In a mental haze, he thought that perhaps he should give Johnny a call. He would </span> <span class="s2"><em>not</em> </span><span class="s1">appreciate being summoned at such an hour, but Alastor didn’t care. There was another piece in their predicament now.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Seems like someone isn’t too thrilled that Al’s still alive. Luckily, Alastor has a knife now. Another thing Alastor has is some trauma from the last week that he is not going to acknowledge :)</p><p>I re-formatted all the previous chapters because I realized that the spacing was inconsistent, so lemme know if it’s janky.</p><p>Goodness gracious thank you to everyone who’s sticking with this story, and my apologies for the long-ish wait time!</p><p>Stay tuned~</p><p> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Dry-Gulched: punched suddenly<br/>Get a Slant: get a look</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Enough Confidence for Murder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor frantically spun the dialer. He pressed the receiver to his ear and counted the seconds. He hated waiting almost as much as he hated the fact that he couldn’t stop shaking.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The telephone dug into his ear painfully. He held his breath, which made all the pain in his chest worse but he had to be completely silent. He had to hear Johnny’s voice he couldn’t miss it he—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“It’s fuckin’ midnight, </span> <span class="s2"> <em>what?”</em> </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Gruff and heavy with sleep and so loud against his ear was the sound that Alastor had been waiting for. He choked as he tried to get a breath of air, just enough to speak. Instead of anything coherent all he got out was a pathetic mumble.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... Hello?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as Alastor got a hold of himself he would answer. It was taking a frustrating amount of time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The only reason that the line was still open was because, Alastor figured, his breathing kept hitching and he realized too late that he was breaking down. Hideous noises were crawling out of his throat, noises that sounded far to much like the cries of a wounded animal. Alastor turned away, hoping that the sounds wouldn’t be noticeable across the line. He had to stop the embarrassing display but he couldn’t, he had to speak but he fucking couldn’t. Johnny must’ve realized by now that something was wrong.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alastor? Is’at you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor threw all of his willpower into forming a sentence or even a word. He wanted Johnny to hear him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With his fingers wound so tight around the telephone he may have bent it, he managed to squeak out his address.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dead silence on Johnny’s side. Then, after an agonizing couple seconds: “I’ll be there in a jiffy, don’t do anything stupid.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor finally took a proper breath, and smashed the receiver back on the hook. He walked down to the front hall, and with no dignity left in his system he then crumpled to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That little panic was very much not how he wanted to handle difficult situations. Alastor giggled, a bit hysterically, at what he was becoming. A mess. He was in absolute shambles, relying on a mean drunken bumpkin for comfort. They were supposed to be conspiring, not crying over every little mishap. Besides, comfort was not something that Alastor needed, not from anyone but his mother. His poor, sweet mother. What would she do, looking down upon him, snivelling and huddled on the ground?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She would probably pat his shoulders and sing until he calmed down, and then they would go cook a wonderful meal. And Alastor wouldn’t tell her what had gotten him so wound up because she didn’t need that stress. He tried to steel himself. Good Lord, crying to Johnny was a cowardly move made in a mess of emotions. Alastor tugged at his hair in frustration.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He waited. It was such a cliché thing, to wait for what felt like an eternity. He was quite sure that phrase had been used in many a romantic picture show, scrawled out on the screen while the orchestra played a riveting ballad. Alastor chuckled, a little less hysterically this time. He would be caught dead before he would partake in a gooey-eyed love fiasco, but he must admit. He felt like he had been waiting for an eternity.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Muffled clomping sounds from the outdoor stairs reverberated through the front hall. Instantly at the ready, Alastor was primed to either strike or run, he hadn’t decided yet. He crept towards the door and gripped the handle.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A hasty knock sounded, at first so loud that Alastor flinched before it quieted to quick tapping.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Half-turning the handle, Alastor plastered a grin on his face. The door was suddenly pushed from the other end, but the lock wasn’t fully turned yet and the door jammed. Alastor took a step back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Al?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny managed to shove the door open. He stood silhouetted against the dreary night, looking almost menacing in Alastor’s doorway. He stepped across the threshold and Alastor took another step back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey Al.... lemme see you, yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words were worn down with exhaustion, but there was such a bare sincerity to them. An unmistakable worry was laid out in Johnny’s voice, upon reaching Alastor.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tentatively, Alastor waved the man inside. The dim light from the living room washed Johnny in a soft orange glow. He studied Alastor’s face with an expression that was very tired, and almost calm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Small scuffle.” Alastor knew that his voice would break if he tried a whole sentence, so he kept his explanation short and sweet. “No killing. I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like hell you are.” Johnny moved his hand back and forth, and it took a moment for Alastor to realize that he was being beckoned closer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor walked forward willingly. Johnny being there was his fault, so no point in avoiding the man.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny narrowed his eyes. “Your lip is busted again.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Punched.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I figured. You said you didn’t kill so the hell did you do?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stabbed.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"> <em>“Stabbed?</em> </span> <span class="s1"> You stabbed someone?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Carving knife, a couple times.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... God.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his actions. How he actually won. He recalled the sheer relief he felt when flesh and muscle tore at his will. The triumph. For a moment, he had felt pure joy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The hysterical giggles spilled out of his throat again. He knew that he was wild-eyed, and Johnny should’ve understandably skulked back. But he leaned towards Alastor with no hesitation, shushing him with his hands raised in a placating manner. How odd.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Alastor’s head hurt and his chest hurt and actually </span> <em> <span class="s2">everything</span> </em> <span class="s1"> hurt. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids, trying to quell his obnoxious train wreck thoughts. The thoughts that were screaming, like metal scraping against metal in his head.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny’s voice cut through. “I’m gonna touch you, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor nodded, and then cool skin was touching his own. Fingers wrapped carefully around his shaky hands, pulling them away from his face. Letting the surroundings blur out, Alastor stared at their hands clutched together.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you recognize him?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor understood what Johnny was asking. “No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not the seetie Maddie’s chained to, then.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. He was.... he knew what happened. Definitely part of the mob, or a close conspirator.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Talking was getting somewhat easier. Alastor felt numb again, possibly an effect of his head being bashed into the wall. Or perhaps it was Johnny’s calm demeanour helping to quell his thoughts.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still holding his hands, Johnny gently tugged Alastor closer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you get hit in the chest or throat?” Johnny whispered.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your breathing’s short, like it hurts. Your pupils look fine, which is good, ‘cause you hit your head too, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re very observant.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks. Let’s sit down, you got any furniture in this place?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Alastor snorted, and he could almost ignore the ensuing twinge of pain. </span> <em> <span class="s2">“Yes,</span> </em> <span class="s1"> you prick.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they were both seated— bizarrely on the floor and still holding hands— Alastor finally got a good look at Johnny’s face. His features seemed to grow more haggard as they sat in silence, but there was a softness in his eyes. He wasn’t looking at Alastor, thankfully, so he didn’t catch his studying gaze.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s been a rough week,” Johnny said dully.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That understatement drew a loud laugh from Alastor, before he gasped and gritted his teeth. Johnny squeezed his hands reassuringly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m getting you some ice.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor wasn’t sure exactly what being grateful felt like. It wasn’t an emotion he had ever grown accustomed to; his mother never demanded he feel grateful for anything growing up, (and he never listened to his father). When Johnny passed him an ice pack, a glass of water, and a blanket from the couch, Alastor wasn’t sure what to feel. He didn’t really understand the other’s motivations, but he settled for a nod and a smile.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">John was concerned. He could sense anxiety crawling under Alastor’s skin, but </span> <em> <span class="s2">like hell</span> </em> <span class="s1"> was he gonna bring it up. When Alastor took the ice pack and water and didn’t say a word, John’s unease grew. Even his smile seemed.... off. John leaned back, pressing his fists into the carpet. He wasn’t only concerned for Alastor’s sake. If tonight’s incident spurred Alastor into such an anxious state, John worried what that meant for him. Clearly, they now had two confirmed people to murder.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">All thoughts about the future dissipated when Alastor pressed the ice pack to his chest and actually </span> <span class="s2"> <em>whined</em></span><span class="s1"><em>.</em> John lay the blanket over Al’s shoulders as Alastor forced air through grit teeth.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John sighed hard through his nose. “You’re one unlucky bastard.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not luck,” Alastor murmured.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“.... I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My knife is still downstairs.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get it later.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Will the police come?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He wouldn’t have gone to the police, but y’might have another mob after you soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Murder, then.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor took a sip of water, eyeing John thoughtfully. “Johnny.... I believe I’ve put you in a difficult situation—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut it.” John made his decision then and there. “I’m not above murder.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alastor beamed with a genuine happiness that John rarely saw. It was a little disconcerting now, but oh fucking well.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John’s life was officially, undeniably, perfectly ruined.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>When your bro 🥺 When your bro agrees to murder people with you 🥺</p><p>Good for them, honestly.</p><p>This fic might be getting wildly OOC but you know what. I like it.</p><p>By the way, “Stitches and Angels” will be updated soon! Sorry about the hiatus but writer’s block kinda hit me with that story. I’ve already written about two thirds of the next chapter, though!</p><p>Cömmënts are always appreciated! I love getting feedback, as most writers do :)</p><p>Stay tuned~</p><p> </p><p>1920s Slang:</p><p>Seetie: hated person</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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